


asterism

by microcosmo



Series: let me face, let me face, let me face my fears [4]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: "and they were partners", "oh my god they were partners", Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death, Lore Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28664523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microcosmo/pseuds/microcosmo
Summary: A shower of stars speaks of a fated encounter, one that will unearth a history lost to time.Hop is determined to uncover every hidden fragment and bring the truth to light, no matter the obstacles he faces. If he happens to get some help along the way, then, well...Two's always a pair, innit?
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan, Hop/Masaru | Victor
Series: let me face, let me face, let me face my fears [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858903
Comments: 119
Kudos: 102





	1. after all these years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of previous works in this series, [from me to you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741941/chapters/57018487), [lost in the waves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25686388/chapters/62363659), and [draconic discourse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503860/chapters/67255159), although draconic discourse isn't a necessary read. This won't make much sense without the preceding context of the former two.
> 
> Finally, it's here! After changing my mind about a million times, I finally picked a storyline I'm happy with and decided to move forward. This work will take very great liberties with the game's canonical story material and outright change quite a few things for the sake of my own self-indulgence and fun.
> 
> This takes place approximately a decade after lost in the waves.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_“…oh! Hello there, and welcome to the world of Pokémon! My name is Hop, but everyone around here calls me the Pokémon Professor. The region of Galar is a wonderful place, thriving with nature, bustling cities, picturesque towns, and people and Pokémon alike. Y’know, it’s thanks to Pokémon that our society is able to flourish. They’re all around us, they’ve always been, from our rolling hills and lush forests, to our rugged mountain-tops, raging oceans, and endless blue skies. In our cities, our towns and even the most remote villages, Pokémon are everywhere, and it’s their very presence which allows us to continue onwards towards a better tomorrow. They’re our companions, our friends, our families. For some, esteemed coworkers; for others, trusted confidants. And those who choose to raise and train Pokémon, to do battle and strive for glory and victory alongside their faithful partners upon a world stage, we call Pokémon Trainers.”_

_The pokéballs burst open, three little ones materializing before a trio of wide-eyed children, each with their own distinctive poses and flares. The children cheer, excited, unable to control their glee as Hop introduces each starter, equal parts somber and proud, just as every Professor should feel when they hand the torch off to yet another generation of bright-eyed youth._

…at least, that’s how it always goes down in Hop’s head.

That’s how the Professor always did it and that’s _kinda_ how Sonia usually does.

A pity Hop doesn’t take after them much.

Rather than exuding an aura of elegance and refinement, his clothes are rumpled, he’s got a crick in his neck from falling asleep at his desk, a swollen tongue from when he bit it stammering out an order for tea at the café, and nerves as shot as a newly-minted parent suffering the trials and tribulations of a particularly fussy newborn screeching their underdeveloped lungs out all night long, running on approximately twenty-three minutes of sleep and at least four and-a-half cups of coffee.

Comeuppance for his dark past, no doubt. His brother’s informed him he was an absolute nightmare to deal with when he was an infant, although not in quite so many words.

‘ _Music to my ears_ ,’ he once told Hop, a distant, fond twinkle in his eye. ‘s _o small and cute. You would cry and cry and cry and I would think, ‘our little Hoppip is so cute. Thank you, Arceus, thank you for giving us such a cute little Hoppip. I’ll take good care of him_.’

A touching sentiment at the moment; guilt-inducing in retrospect, especially after all these weeks.

After all the _tears_.

“There, there,” Hop recites, his voice hoarse, throat aching from the repetition. To say he’s tired from the seemingly perpetual sobbing, set off at the slightest tone change, touch or unintentional slight is an understatement. Not that it hasn’t been worth it, but _still_. “Everything’s all right, love.”

The Sobble in his arms, tiny even for his tender age, wails into his shirt. It’s soaked at this point, but that’s hardly new. Sobble cry—a whole lot—and while Hop’s long-since adapted to the challenge of raising one, his heartstrings still tug at the sorrowful weeping. Their parting has long been written in the stars. Hop’s known from the very beginning, and yet _,_ he’s grown _attached,_ just as the Professor always warns him against _._ How could he not, when he’s raised them from the very beginnings of egg-hood?

It hurts, of course it does, but he knows this is for the best. Knows he can’t hold them back from a brilliant future, full of potential he cannot offer. Hop is a simple academic with simple aims.

Sobble, Scorbunny and Grookey, they’re meant for so much _more_.

“Won’t you look at me?” He asks, fingers brushing against the translucent fin atop Sobble’s head. “Please?”

Sobble sniffles, shifting within the cradle of Hop’s arms. Slowly, he looks up, the line of his mouth wobbling.

“There we go,” Hop plucks a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes the glistening globs of water away. “I know it’s scary, but you’re trying your best and that’s brilliant. I’m so proud of you.”

Sobble whimpers. He’s calming down, pleased with the praise. Always so self-conscious; in need of reassurance. He’ll need to keep working on that together with his trainer. Once they get a handle on his confidence, nothing will be able to stop him.

“Everything will be fine,” Hop reassures, setting him down next to the others. “You’ve already met, and you quite liked her, didn’t you? Nothing to be afraid of. I promise.”

Scorbunny, the most excitable of the trio, lets out an encouraging squeak, patting his head with her small paw. Grookey seems to agree, gently poking their friend on the cheek with his beloved stick.

It’s enough to ease Sobble’s nerves. He nods, smiling weakly at whatever it is Scorbunny proceeds to tell him, giggling at Grookey’s comment in turn. They’re an adorable bunch, endearingly supportive of one another. Meant to stick together. A bit on the rowdy side though. Hop’s bountiful experience with unruly ‘mons made short work of their tantrums and odd quirks.

There would be none of that going forward, not anymore, and while the extra sleep sounds lovely, Hop wishes he could turn back time if only to appreciate those moments a while longer.

“Reminds me of when you were a hatchling,” A wistful sigh escapes him, his gaze falling upon Eltanin, dutifully rearranging the haphazardly strewn files on his desk into something far more presentable. “As cute as a button. You still are. You’re the _cutest_. Next to Allie, of course. ”

Altais acknowledges his words with a brief tail light-up, her attention fixed on her tablet and whichever game’s earned her fascination this week. Hop should probably be a lot stricter with its usage. That would be the responsible thing to do, to prevent potential eyestrain and whatever troubles accompany it. The problem is, she’s quite protective of her belongings and makes very convincing arguments as to why he would be in the wrong were he to limit her screen time.

From the opposite side of the room, Eltanin glances at him, a strange, complicated look crossing his features. Hop would clock it as something akin to embarrassment, but far too soon is it gone, the stoic facade falling back into place. He releases a quiet breath, sending a single tissue over in a wisp of cerulean telekinetic waves, landing it daintily upon Hop’s head, the cheeky thing.

“M’not gonna cry,” Hop grumbles, plucking it off, huffing at Eltanin’s unconvinced stare. “I’m _not…_ well, maybe later…”

Definitely later _._ Certainly not at the lab, and _certainly_ not in front of the three children who burst through the doors at the exact hour Hop requested, down to the minute. He tries his best to school his expression into something formal, leaning more towards Professor Magnolia’s standard. He fails horribly, unable to stop the fond smile that breaks across his face as the trio of grade schoolers bound up to him, yammering on at a mile a minute, not allowing him to get a word in edgewise in their haste and excitement.

“Today’s the day, Professor!” Hannah proclaims, tugging incessantly at his lab coat, azure eyes alight with joy of the purest kind. “Today’s the day! You remember, don’t you? You didn’t forget, did you? Please tell me you didn’t!”

“Let’s get started already!” Marvin whines, pulling on his hand. “I wanna pick _now_! You’ve been taking real good care of them, haven’t ya, Prof? M’not gonna be too chuffed if you haven’t!”

“Marvin!” Hannah gasps, glaring at him. “Professor’s the _best_ at taking care of ‘mons! How could you even _think_ that! I’m so sorry, Professor! Marvin’s a big _dummy_!”

“Hey! Who’re you callin’ a dummy, _dummy_!”

“You, you _dummy_!”

“ _You’re_ the—“

“That’s quite enough,” Hop’s tone is firm, his gaze stern. “Friends _do not_ insult one another. You’re excited, I understand, but _none_ of that.”

Sheepish, they mumble out a set of apologies. Hop’s under no impression the lesson will stick, it _never_ does, but maybe one day it will, and they’ll both save themselves a lifetime of unhealthy, rancorous bouts of self-depreciation and the daily existential crises that accompany adults with a plethora of emotional hangups their therapist claims stem from familial abandonment and years of physical and verbal abuse from their peers.

…or maybe not. They both hail from rather stable families and form part of a tight-knit friend group, so there’s that.

“Sorry Prof. We won’t do it again,” Marvin concedes, patting his hand as a means of reconciliation. “We’re good beans.”

“The best beans!” Hannah chirps. “Your _favorite_ beans, right?”

“No favorites here. We’ll have none of that either,” Hop chides, focusing in on the third member of the group, silently observing them, hands primly clasped. “Now, since Kayleigh hasn’t made a fuss and been very patient, she gets the first pick.”

Kayleigh smirks, the picture of smugness as she steps forward.

“Naturally,” she haughtily proclaims. “The Professor understands good grace and manners when he sees them.”

“Aww, hush up!” Marvin sticks his tongue out, Hannah following suit. “You’re a sneak!”

“Yeah! The _biggest_ sneak!”

Kayleigh waves off their complaints, stopping in front of the three Pokémon patiently awaiting their fate. She observes them and, for an instance, her expression grows uncertain. She glances at Hop, biting her lip.

“Um, can I really pick one…?” she inquires, shuffling her feet, all theprior bravado absent from her speech. “Is it really okay?”

“Of course,” Hop smiles, gesturing at the young creatures. “We have our friends Ms. Scorbunny, Mr. Grookey, and Mr. Sobble. I’d introduce them again, but I think you already know who you came here for.”

Kayleigh nods, a pleased grin lighting up her countenance. She wouldn’t have asked him so many questions about _a_ certain someone’s particular habits and weaknesses if she wasn’t already planning on taking them in. At only ten years of age, Kayleigh is demonstrably not the sort to waste her time on endeavors which do not suit her.

She breezes past Scorbunny and Grookey, extending her hand towards Sobble.

“Mr. Sobble, if you’re ready and willing, won’t you be my partner?” she asks, chest puffed out, one hand on her hip, the aura of a confident trailblazer about her. It’s a familiar flare, one Hop has observed in many of the children of Hammerlocke.There’s assuredly a _very_ specific reason for it, the mere thought enough to nearly elicit amused laughter from him. Some people are simply too iconic, too _admirable_ , to fade into obscurity. A double-edged sword no doubt, but if they can inspire the kind of earnest confidence in children that leaves adults quaking in their boots, perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.

Sobble looks at Kayleigh, his eyes wide and luminous. Despite what his earlier tears might have suggested, he’s been looking forward to this day, to earning _one_ particular young lady’s partnership.

Tentatively, he reaches out. Kayleigh bends her arm inward, forming a perch for him to sit upon. She catches him when he nearly slips on the way up, grinning away his anxious shuddering.

“No worries, mate!” she tells him, not a speck of hesitation to her words. “I’ve gotcha!”

Sobble blinks, then smiles, wide and brilliant and cheerful, and Hop is reassured that this is the right choice. _This_ is what he is meant to be doing. He’ll miss him--he’ll miss all of them--but there’s nothing that can quite beat the feeling of knowing they’re moving onto bigger and better things, with proper partners and families to call their own.

As far as the profession goes, Hop reckons this is what makes it all worthwhile.

Hannah picks Scorbunny and Marvin picks Grookey, each ecstatic to have exactly who they wanted and vice versa. Hop gives them a brief rundown on how to properly care for their new partners, providing each child with kits he prepared beforehand.

“You should each have your basic trainer necessities,” he says. “A first-aid kit, a set of pokéballs, some salves, battle gear, a journal—“ He gets a few groans at that. “— _yes_ , a _journal._ Hold on. Don’t give me those looks. I’m not expecting any essays and you don’t need to hand them in. It’s just so if you run into anything interesting, you can jot it down. Or not. The choice is yours.”

“Can we draw pictures instead?” Hannah asks, wringing her wrists. “I’m not good at writing stuff…”

“Of course,” Hop answers with a smile. “Handle it however you like. And if you ever need to stock up on anything, feel free to drop in. I've plenty to go around.”

“Ace!”

“S’that mean we can finally go to the castle n’battle Raihan and Leon?” Marvin questions gleefully, hopping from foot to foot, Grookey channeling that same excitement by waving his stick around.

“Let’s hold off on that for now,” Putting the cart before the Rapidash won’t get them any closer to their goals. As much as Hop wishes he could send them offto the races and witness them effortlessly prosper, there’s a lot of prep work to be done and basic essentials to handle. “Focus on getting to know each other better first. I know it doesn’t seem all that big a deal, but if you can’t read one another, if you can’t connect beyond yelling out orders and following them, you’re not going to have good synergy, and what does having good synergy mean?”

“ _Having a champion time with your best mates_.” All three children recite effortlessly, unsurprisingly. It’s practically law among primary schoolers. Not so much the teens, but their demographic tends to skew towards Raihan anyway.

“Exactly,” Hop says. “The best trainers are best friends with their Pokémon. They treat them with dignity, respect, kindness and always listen to everything they have to say.”

“But I can’t speak Pokémon,” Hannah laments, holding her Scorbunny close. “How will I know what she’s saying?”

“As long as you’re listening, you’ll know,” It’s cryptic advice, he understands, but it’s all Hop can tell them. There’s no instructional manual for building relationships, however unfortunate that is. It’s a simple matter of caring enough to put in the effort. The more they pay attention, the more they’ll learn to understand their partner’s needs and wants, and the easier connecting beyond a basic level of ‘human and glorified pet’ becomes. “It’s a natural process, so don’t worry your heads off about it. Be kind, be patient, and be friends. That’s all there is to it.”

“Easy for _you_ to say,” Kayleigh grumbles, folding her arms against her chest. “You’re the Pokémon Prince.”

“I thought it was Professor Prince?” Marvin says, brows furrowing.

“ _I_ thought it was _Pokémon_ Professor Prince.” Hannah adds, confused.

“It’s none of those,” Hop quickly cuts in, face flushing. Honestly, one person overhears a _single_ teasing comment in what was supposed to be a quiet, early morning conversation and it spreads like wildfire. Hammerlocke’s rumor mill certainly isn’t anything to be underestimated. “It’s Professor Hop.”

“Naw, I’m pretty sure Hannah’s right. It’s Pokémon Professor Prince,” Marvin grins, and it’s all cheeky and smug and Hop wonders what he ever did to deserve this sort of treatment by children not even a fourth his height. “Has to be. My nan says you’ve got the air ‘o one. Got that castle n’ all those drakes with ya, too.”

“I wasn’t aware princes lived alongside dragons.”

“N’Hammerlocke they did!” Kayleigh exclaims, clicking her tongue, idly caressing Sobble beneath the chin. “Come on, Prof, how could you forget our own history? It’s back to the books with you. On the double.”

“Better get to it,” Hannah giggles, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “Or we’re gonna tell Lord Raihan and he’s not gonna be happy about it. Not one bit.”

“A traitorous gang of tattle-tales are you?” Hop turns to Eltanin and Altais, raising a single eyebrow. “You two don’t suppose I should make those journal entries mandatory, do you? I reckon five pages should do the trick, perhaps seven, with clear and concise thesis statements and _at least_ fifteen credible and cited sources. The uni library should have everything they need, what with those _thousand page books_ and _three-thousand_ year old writing mannerisms _,_ the type not even their nans use. Is that a good idea, Ellie? Allie?”

Eltanin observes the children, inclining his head thoughtfully. Altais looks up from her tablet, narrowing her eyes, considering the proposal with an unusual amount of severity. After all, Professor Hop is known to be swayed by the opinions of his beloved partners on a consistent basis. Daily perhaps. Everyone who’s met him understands this as plain and true fact, the children especially.

And so, they _run_.

“Thanks for the ‘mons, Prof!” Marvin is the first out the door, his laughter nervous and manic. Grookey waves goodbye from atop his head. “We’ll take good care of ‘em!”

“No essays!” Hannah squeals, following closely at his heels, Scorbunny squeaking with delight at the rush. “We won’t tell! Promise!”

“You better tell Leon to get ready! Once we’re trained up, we’re gonna take him down and make him proud!” Kayleigh declares, Sobble holding tightly to her shoulder as she follows the rest of her crew. “See ya later!”

“You three better stop by the Pokémon Center!” Hop calls out after their retreating forms. “Have Nurse Joyce give them a check-up every so often, and don’t push your limits!”

“Yes sir!” They yell back in tandem, disappearing down the cobblestone road and around the corner, likely in the direction of the park. The perfect place to spend a delightfully sunny afternoon frolicking about with friends, both new and old.

Thinking on it, a warning about making sure to get their homework done in the midst of all the excitement likely would have been prudent, but who is Hop to put a damper on all the fun? If they find themselves in need of an excuse, he would be more than happy to write one up. He’s the one at fault anyway.

Pokémon are _way_ more interesting than reviewing _polynomials_.

“Another group off to the races.”

“Arceus save Galar,” Hop sighs, fixing a wry smile upon the elderly woman sweeping the sidewalk beside him. “They’ll be wreaking havoc before we know it.”

“That’s what little ones are best at, dear,” Grace, one of the residents of the brownstone next door, lets out a hearty laugh. Their former landlady during the castle’s initial renovations, she’s been a staple of his mornings and afternoons ever since he set up shop next-door, her wild stories and easy-going manner a much needed counterbalance to the stress and frustration his line of work tends to induce. “If they’re not causing trouble, it throws the rest of the world off balance. I’m sure you understand that better than anyone, don’t you?”

“I’m the last person who needs reminding,” he says, sheepishly running a hand through his hair when it only makes her laugh harder. That he’s found himself in many a precarious circumstance throughout the years isn’t exactly a secret around the city, much less to his direct neighbors. His unintentional waltzes into trouble have become something of a running joke around these parts, one Hop would rather everyone put to rest on account of how much teasing it gets him, even if it’s all in good fun.

“Leave him alone, Mum.” Grace’s daughter, Jane, pokes her head out the door, sending a sympathetic look his way. “She’s not bothering you again, is she?”

“Certainly not,” Hop replies earnestly. “She’s a light in the dark. There’s a reason I look forward to workdays.”

“Oh, you _sweetheart_ ,” Grace elbows him, her grin toothy. “Any more of that and I’ll have to send over a little something special. How does a nice slice of strawberry shortcake sound?”

“Brilliant _,_ ” Hop answers a bit too quickly not to be embarrassed by, Grace’s snickers and Jane’s giggles only adding onto that. In an attempt to drive their attention away from his quickly reddening cheeks, he says “w-would either of you be planning on taking a look at the sky? Later this week, I mean?”

“The sky? Why’s that?”

“A wishing star shower should be visible above us. By late evening, if our calculations are correct,” he’s been keeping tabs on the readings ever since Sonia first mentioned picking up on intense energy fluctuations above Hammerlocke Hills a few weeks prior, indicative of a potential influx of wishing stars, which are far less common than the abundant wishing pieces. With any luck, Hop could collect an untampered sample or two for himself and Sonia straight from the ozone layer.

“That sounds wonderful!” Jane says, her features lighting up. “That’s reason enough to let Alice stay up past her bedtime. Doesn’t that sound lovely, Mum?”

“A wishing star shower…” Grace hums, closing her eyes for a moment. “When I was a young lass, do you know Professor, where my mother used to tell me those star pieces came from?”

Hop tilts his head, curious.

Grace cracks a single eye open, pointing towards her chest. “The Heart of Hammerlocke.”

“The Heart of Hammerlocke?”

“A Pokémon,” she shrugs. “Ancient folklore. She never could tell me exactly what kind of creature it was, not even her mother could, but she would often say its heart bled for Galar in the form of wishing stars, for better or for worse, until there was nothing left for them to give.”

“I see.” This is the first Hop’s learning of this. There are plenty of mentions of dragon-type Pokémon living alongside the citizens of Hammerlocke, playing vital roles in conquest of territories and bloody wars he would rather not ruminate on, but nothing about a being of that nature. Perhaps Raihan could elaborate more on the matter.

“Obviously, there’s nothing to substantiate it. We still get those showers every once in a while, so there can’t be much truth to it, but I used to wonder how it must’ve felt. Bein’ torn apart like that—for others—until you’ve got nothing of yourself left.”

“Not at all pleasant, I imagine.” Hop says quietly. The thought hits a little too close to home, memories of a wrinkled bedside and frail fingers, of joyless smiles and skin-deep facades coming back to him all at once, as vivid in his mind now as the day he lived them.

Sensing the dip in his mood, Grace places a hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing to think too hard on, lad,” She tells him kindly. “Just an old lady’s ramblings.”

“Twenty-five is hardly old.”

“Stop that, you flirt,” She guffaws, slapping him playfully on the back. “Now you’re _asking_ for a sugar rush.”

After a bit more chatter, Grace informing him of a downtown feud between two of her teatime companions and the blowup that ensued, along with Jane’s questions about her daughter Alice’s Noibat and whether their recent aversion to certain sound volumes is anything to be concerned about, he heads back into the lab.

The interior’s nothing too grand, not yet at least. The walls are a pleasant lavender, light and gentle on the eyes, meant to relax visitors. His workspace is tucked against the farthest corner, comprised of a desk and various perpetually blinking monitors tracking various readings. Expensive and complex equipment is lined against the opposite wall. The hefty sum they cost is enough to make him wince even now, despite Sonia and the Professor’s reassurances they would pay for themselves in the long-run and save him many a headache. Hopefully, any future splurges would be kept to a minimum. Nearest to the front door is the sitting area, boasting a plushy sofa, loveseat, and center table adorned with a vase of Gracidea flowers and a set of Charmander-shaped coasters, a gift from the obvious perpetrator.All in all, a simple set up; one that gets the job done. He’s got some flower stands on the way to join the few he has out front, with plans on getting a proper greenhouse set up out back when he’s finally ready to tackle the mess of weeds and overgrowth that await him.

All in good time, is what Hop repeats to himself. Soon, everything will fall perfectly into place.

A sudden yawn prompts Hop into directing his gaze towards the sofa, where Altais has decided she’s grown bored of her tablet and would instead prefer attention, pointedly holding her arms out for him.Never one to deny his twinkling stars the affections they so rightfully deserve, Hop takes her into his arms, cradling her petite pink body against his chest. Faint traces of static tickle his skin, not enough to deter him from nuzzling her fluffy wool.

“Would you like to sleep upstairs?” He asks. There’s nothing especially interesting up there. A simple studio apartment with all the basic necessities and furnishings, the result of buying out a dilapidated residence with far more use to it than purely the scientific. It’s supposed to serve as a place for him to rest should he pull any overnighters or require an emergency power nap. Thus far, only Altais has taken advantage of the luxury, relishing the peace and quiet. Hop mainly uses the kitchenette for tea, while Eltanin cannot stomach the idea of leaving his post unattended for a single moment, even if it’s only a staircase away.

Altais shakes her head, burrowing further into his arms.

A definite no. Not a big deal. Hop can manage his pitiful workload alongside good company. May as well take advantage of his relative free-time before the spiral into despair that is cataloging draconian behavioral patterns in a way that makes sense for the scholars in charge of tearing his research to pieces begins.

Hop is under no impression he’s the definitive, go-to source for anything relating to dragon-types, no matter how much everyone likes to think he is, but he’s also incredibly aware what scarce information there is generally lacks the nuance they are deserving of, and that any attempts to cohesively group any one species into neatly laid-out categories is asking for inaccuracies, misconceptions and blatant _falsehoods_. There are particulars to be had and overarching genomes to study and a basic understanding of their environmental evolutionary progress to consider.

To put it simply, the average observer may infer Hop has made a grave mistake in choosing to pursue a field in draconian study, when he _knows_ how fickle they can be; understands on a fundamental level the complexities and oddities behind their behavior and, quite frankly, their existence.

The problem is, he doesn’t care, because he _loves_ _them_ , and so a descent into madness it is for him, because now that Sonia isn’t here to hold his hand anymore, the future is bleak and uncertain.

“Cheers to my impending doom,” Hop bemoans to nobody in particular, earning an eye-roll from Eltanin, who nudges him back in the direction of his desk, all neat and sorted and cleanly thanks to his diligent efforts. Thank goodness. What would he do without him?

‘ _Gorge on sugar and_ _cry_ ,” Eltanin’s keen eyes seem to say, as if he’s somehow read his mind. Hop wouldn’t be surprised. His Ellie is _talented_. That he’s a telepath would be par for course.

Whatever the case, Hop can’t reasonably rebuke his point, so he gets to work like the well-trained professor he’s trying his best to be, disallowing his focus to stray until it’s time to head home. Not at all a hassle, given it’s just down the street.

The convenience is nice. Not having to suffer through the morning commute just to get all the way down to Wedgehurst is a welcome change to his daily routine, not that it hasn’t come with its own array of downsides. Hop would be lying if he said the absence of what he once considered a mild annoyance isn’t bittersweet. Seeing Sonia’s face after all that trouble was always worth it, motivating him to do his best under her tutelage.

He still tries his best, he always will, because he knows Sonia wants that from him, knows that’s why she suggested he branch off on his own in the first place.

He wants to make her proud, prove her trust and faith in him is warranted, that he’ll do a good job professor-ing for Hammerlocke, helping the people the same way she helps everyone in Wedgehurst and Postwick and just about _everywhere_.

Hop will likely never reach her level of acclaim, much less Professor Magnolia’s, but he’ll do his part here the way he knows best and, hopefully, give her a reason to always trust in her spot-on intuition; to trust she made the right choice.

And maybe, just maybe, he can convince himself of that too.

* * *

Besides running into Camilla and Sebastian at the drawbridge, the trek home is uneventful.

“See ya tomorrow, lil’ man and crew,” Camilla bids him farewell with a particularly violent pat to the back. If Leon has the strength of a Bewear, she’s definitely giving him a run for his money. “Boss dads are over in the arena if you need them.”

“Please tell them to tone it down,” Sebastian sighs, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. The poor guy looks _exhausted_. “My heart can’t take much more of this.”

“A lost cause, I’m afraid.” Hop smiles sympathetically. Asking Leon to tone it down is the equivalent of asking a Charizard to trade their flames in for a set of flippers and an endless ocean.

As in, not likely and not worth the trouble of asking.

They part ways. Hop has every intention of taking the elevator up, to start prepping for dinner so Raihan doesn’t have to, but then he hears— _feels_ —the clash of two greater powers just a ways off from where he’s standing, and figures it couldn’t hurt to drop in on the action. Ironically enough, he hasn’t been privy to very many of their battles as of late, his attention primarily focused on making sure his humble little laboratory is running as smoothly as it possibly can with only himself around to man it. His aversion to the profession notwithstanding, Hop enjoys peeking in on the occasion. There’s something to be said about the way trainers and Pokémon can connect with one another despite the ostensively violent circumstances, all rage and aggression and visceral action. It’s brutal and ferocious, untamed and frightening.

In-spite of all those decidedly unappealing characteristics, there’s joy to be found in it.

Hop wouldn’t go as far as to say he enjoys it as much as his friends and family do, but he’s grown to appreciate the amount of effort and thought that goes into every split-second, individual play and command.When it comes to his own skill, he’s all right with predictions and only mildly decent at remembering his type match-ups under pressure when they matter most. His Pokémon are objectively strong, albeit disinterested in demonstrating said strength. Eltanin thinks it gauche. Altais simply doesn’t care for expending the effort.Should the need ever arise for a sound thrashing, be absolutely _necessary_ , he’s reasonably confident he can manage. For now, Hop is content to watch from the sidelines and deal with the aftermath, whether that’s elation or frustration, crushing disappointment or whatever the case may be.

Once the grates are down, the drawbridge elevated, Hop wanders past the lobby, towards the main arena stage, Eltanin following closely behind, Altais riding on his shoulder.

It’s a far cry from its previous iteration. Long gone is the sports stadium inspired aesthetic, the, in Hop’s humble opinion, _boring_ looking stands and silly sponsorship logos plastered along the walls nowhere to be seen. Hammerlocke Castle’s signature architecture is still there, framing the area beautifully with its medieval style. A touch of the past, of generations long since gone, history entrenched in every nook and cranny, rooted within the very foundations.

Rather than a look inspired by the future, by Wyndon and what is yet to arrive, Raihan chose to strip away the appearance of modernity, returning the stadium to its former glory. Gothic depictions of fanged creatures hang upon every ledge, looming over the stage menacingly with little regard for their imposing presence. Where the arches patterning the amphitheater were one well-maintained and warded now lie free-flying dragons. Wild Noivern, Hydreigon and Dragapult, even the uncommon Salamence and Altaria, perch upon their nests, coming and going as they please, often observing the pitch’s on-goings with open curiosity as they care for their young. Raihan has made little effort to discourage their presence, going as far as to warn everyone against disturbing them. The title of dragon-tamer has never been more fitting, his pride, unmatched. The dragons roar and croon for his every appearance. It drives the crowd wild, lights Raihan’s face up with a childlike glee.

At the center of the pitch, vibrant and and stark, as if scorched onto the grounds themselves, lies the castle’s insignia. One part sentimentality, one part respect for the historical, and whole parts lovey dovey-ness, a silhouetted dragon rests upon a sword and shield, crowned with a, well, _crown_ , the surrounding perimeter embellished with wreaths and ribbons.

‘ _The culmination of our raging desires,_ ’ Leon rather eloquently described to Hop upon its inception, hunched over his computer, proving graphical design to be yet another one of his many hidden talents. ‘ _Ace, huh?_ ’

 _Ace indeed_ , Hop thinks, stopping just short of making his presence known. He tugs at his collar, a blistering wave of heat hitting him full force. Above him, a sun that shouldn’t be shining, not indoors and not this late, bears down on the arena full force. Warping magenta waves of energy pulse throughout the rocky terrain as chunks of falling hail melt into water, touching the steaming ground and evaporating instantly, the subsequent mist only worsening visibility, dampening the voices, snarls and clanging sounds booming across the field.

It’s a _mess_ out there.

Hop really wasn’t expecting otherwise.

“What’s a Defog sound like to you?” He asks Eltanin, slipping his glasses off to wipe the condensation clean. Altais takes them instead. She’s good at cleaning them. Doesn’t get her prints all over the lenses like he always does.

Eltanin glances at him, questioning his decision to interfere. An understandable concern.

Ruining the fun isn’t Hop’s goal here though. He’s reasonably sure neither side can make heads or tails of where they are or what they’re doing. Judging by the echoes of increasingly frustrated cries, it doesn’t seem like a very good time. Instead, it looks like the natural result of very excitable trainers getting their hands on items like terrain extenders and weather rocks becoming carried away.

“Go ahead,” Hop says, leaning his head down so Altais can prop his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “Put them out of their misery.”

Eltanin nods and does as he’s requested, wings arching backward only to flick forward, powerful gusts of wind whipping around them and onto the pitch, clearing the way, accosting his ears with the abrupt return of crystal clear sound to his senses. Screeches bombard him from all directions. He almost regrets asking Eltanin anything at all.

Except, he really doesn’t, because his decision proves prudent not even a second later once the air clears and he can actually see what’s happening. He sees the slab of stalactite hurtling straight for him, the likely result of a Pokémon hurling it forward in an attempt to hit _something_.

Within the blink of an eye, shimmering steel tears across his vision, slicing the projectile clean in half, both pieces zipping past he and Eltanin, crashing into the ground next to them.

Billowing, obsidian-colored cloth, tapering down into golden tassels effortlessly cut through the slowly waning gales, one firmly gripping a matching shield, the other reaching outward, tassels curling inward. A single golden eye bores into him, the jagged, scarlet edges of a sharpened blade unscathed from the abrupt impact of steel against rock.

Hop smiles.

“Keen as always, Cal,” He says, setting a hand onto the silky fabric. “Sorry for the trouble.”

Excalibur, not at all perturbed by the necessity of the quick save, gracefully salutes him. His gentlemanly poise has long since proven itself infallible; unshakeable even during the most dire of circumstances. For an Aegislash supposedly known to scheme and connive for the sake of soul consumption and infinite power, he’s a great deal more noble than legends would suggest.

“Hop.”

“Hi.”

“Don’t ‘hi’ me.” Raihan’s frowning, marching over with a distinctly displeased curl to his lips. Hop feels bad for being the cause of it and for also not finding it menacing in the slightest. Raihan’s hair is in disarray and so are his clothes, not to mention all that sand stuck to his person. He looks like a sand-man—he kinda _is_ one—enough so that Hop has to stop himself from snickering and making things worse. “Are you all right?”

“Right as rain,” He gestures to Excalibur, still holding his hand. He likes to do that a lot. It’s very cute. “Cal had me covered.”

“Lucky you,” Raihan remarks dryly, his frown growing more pronounced. “Heaven’s sake, Hopscotch, you scared the hell out of me. Don’t wander in here like that. Not when we don’t have the barriers up. You know we don’t this late.”

“Sorry,” Hop scratches his cheek, sheepish. Slipped his mind, really. “Wasn’t thinking.”

“Big brain o’ yours is stuffed to the brim, that’s why,” Raihan pokes his forehead, lips curving upward, previous severity abandoned in favor of amusement. “Spacey smarty-pants have tons of brooding to do.”

“I don’t brood.”

“Sorry. I meant sit around pouting.”

“I don’t pout,” A ridiculous claim to make given the pout that instantaneously forms upon his lips at the accusation. “I don’t do that.”

“Of course you don’t, Sweet-pea,” Raihan says in that sympathetic tone he always uses whenever he’s trying to humor him. “Never.”

“Never.”

“Not once.”

“No.”

“Nope,” Raihan hums, looking over his shoulder at the two hulking figures approaching them. “Tito, Pops, any ideas where that came from? Pretty sure it wasn’t either of you.”

Tito shakes his head fervently, confused as they are. Hop highly doubts it was him. He’s not really the type to indulge in reckless moves like that, not to mention how impossible it seems. Turtonator aren’t known for their ability to toss anything long-distance, least of all at high-altitudes and velocity. Their shells are heavy and would hamper their movement.

On his part, Pops appears equally as befuddled, although Hop knows better than to take this at face value, especially after battle. The gentle Drampa is prone to going berserk on the pitch, losing sense of all else around him until his bloodlust is sated.

“It didn’t fly in from your side,” Hop says, laughing when Pops nuzzles him as a greeting. He runs a hand through the fluffy plumage cascading from the top of his head. “Couldn’t have been them."

“Thought so,” Raihan scratches along Tito’s neck, chuckling at his contented expression. “And since it wasn’t Cal…“

“Got your culprit right here,” Leon declares, approaching from his side of the field, flanked by the presumed perpetrator. He casts him a pointed look, one the Pokémon returns blankly. “Sorry about that, Hoppip. A little too much excitement from us.”

“No harm done.” Hop waves off the Mr. Rime’s solemn hat-tip. He’s a bit taken aback by the ferocity behind the toss, but then, Merlin’s always been something of an oddity, both in personality and behavior. “It was a nice throw.”

Merlin’s shoulders shake mirthfully, his wink positively mischievous.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Leon grins, pleased by the compliment. “Maybe we can work it into a proper strategy one of these days.”

“With barriers,” Raihan replies firmly.

“With barriers,” Leon concedes, turning his attention to Hop. Without skipping a beat, before Hop can even attempt to shield himself from the oncoming assault, he ruffles his hair into a messy nest resembling his own, laughing at his indignant squawk. “Welcome back! Nice day at work?”

“Something like that.”

“Did the starter giveaway go well?”

Hop winces. The pain comes flooding back to him in an instant.

“I…think I’m still recovering.”

Leon lays a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“No worries, kiddo, it’s the way these things go. You did well,” He inclines his head thoughtfully. “Can’t say I won’t miss having those rascals around the place. They were getting real good at keeping up with us.”

“You’re going to regret saying that.”

“Why’s that?”

“You have at least one walloping scheduled for the distant future,” Hop replies wryly. “A fifth grader and her Sobble are out for your blood.”

“D’aww…” Leon chuckles, all smiles and good cheer. “It was Kayleigh, right? She said that?”

“She did.”

“Ace. I’ve got high hopes for her.”

“Lee’s impending unemployment aside,” Raihan laughs at Leon’s scandalized expression. “You settling in okay, Hopscotch? Any troubles so far?”

“Everything’s okay,” There’ve been few hiccups along the way, as there are during any transitionary phase of anything; nothing worth worrying either of them over. “I’m figuring it out. Day by day.”

“That’s the spirit of it,” Raihan smiles softly. “Anything comes up, just holler. Rai and Lee ain’t Scones, but we'll come running to lend a hand if you need it.”

“I appreciate it.”

Leon hums. “Hey, if I’m gonna be out of a job soon, why don’t you consider some help? Maybe an assistant? I’m pretty good at assisting. How about it? We could be professor brothers.”

Hop raises an eyebrow.

“Is the idea of sitting around in an office all that appealing to you?”

“With the right company.”

“What about the research?”

“I like learning about Pokémon.”

“Collecting samples, analyzing them, and writing detailed reports?”

“Yeah! Sounds fun! I’m pretty good at writing too. Haven’t you told me that, Rai?”

“I have,” Raihan says fondly. “You’re amazing at it. A real talent.”

“Thanks!” Leon grins with all the pride and enthusiasm one does when receiving effusive praise from their significant other. “See Hop? Perfect assistant material.”

“Okay, but you can’t wear any of your caps when we run experiments.”

Leon’s expression immediately falls.

“…never mind. Rai can do it.”

“What happened to being professor brothers?”

“In spirit, Hoppip. In spirit.”

With that potential opportunity for future employment squandered, they perform a quick clean up of the arena, bid the wild perching dragons goodnight and finally head up, where the rest of the Pokémon are patiently awaiting.

“We’re home!” Hop calls out as he steps through door and into the foyer, kicking off his shoes. Eltanin and Altais race ahead of him, eager to reunite with the rest of their group. Tito, Pops, Excalibur, and Merlin follow suit.cOf course, they all make sure to properly greet Lulu, standing stalwart by the rack of shoes and slippers, already anticipating their arrival. To do otherwise would be blasphemous.

“Good work today,” Hop says softly, shoulders slumping at the Duraludon’s customary croon in return. Something’s always been soothing about returning to his warm welcomes, gentle upon his weary heart, no matter how trying or difficult the day.Times have changed, Hop’s grown taller, towering over Lulu instead of the other way around, but those feelings haven’t wavered at all.

Suddenly overcome with the day’s emotion and nostalgia, Hop throws his arms around Lulu, resting his cheek upon the cool steel of his head.

“I missed you,” He coos, smiling when the ‘mon lays his claws against his back. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

“Me too.” Raihan adds on, flinging himself across Hop’s back, his lanky arms reaching around to grasp at Lulu as well.

“Me three!” Leon rounds off the group hug with a brilliant grin.

Lulu blinks up at them, taken aback, before smiling that charming, fang-y, metal-y smile of his.

There’s no purer sight, in Hop’s humble opinion.

Well, maybe except for the way Dee is peeking at them from down the hall, eyes aglow and hopeful. A look that’s one hundred percent _Leon_. Nothing can convince him otherwise.

Hop gestures her over with a wave of his hand. Dee beams and trots over happily, plastering herself against Lulu’s back, the inability to wrap her arms around the entire group notenough to stop her from trying. Neither is it enough to deter the others from joining in, because the very next moment, a pair of vibrant wings are fluttering over, the added weight of Flo clinging onto both Raihan and Leon’s backs threatening the structural integrity of an already impressive group hug, on the brink of total collapse when Mordred stomps over and inserts herself into the center, enraged by the idea of not being included.

“Heya Dreddy,” is Leon’s muffled greeting. “How’s my princess?”

Mordred screeches with delight, crushing Hop against her chest as she attempts to embrace Leon at the same time.

“C-Can’t breathe,” Hop wheezes. Hugging Mordred’s always a joy, but not like this. Even Lulu’s starting to squirm from all the weight pressing upon him. “T-Too much.”

“That’s how love be.”

“ _Leon_.”

“What? It’s true. Bracing, innit?”

Oh, yes, it’s _very_ bracing, especially when Galahad phases upward from the floors and nearly frightens the life out of Hop at the same time that Gwin and Gwen drift downward from the ceiling and take their corporeal—and v _ery heavy_ —forms, because they are _mischief_ _incarnate_ and absolutely _refuse_ to give up their juvenile Dreepy ways even as fully-grown Dragapult.

And that’s to say _nothing_ of Leon’s Legion.

“Incoming wave!” Leon proclaims happily, his sixth sense acting up, grinning ear to ear as they are set upon by a tsunami of Dreepy and Drakloak, eager to join in on the fun and cause as much trouble as possible.

Unable to support everyone’s weight any longer, Lulu stumbles backward with a startled cry, creating a domino affect that ends in yelps and screams and a mess of limbs and tails and Dreepy and Drakloak as far as the eye can see, giggling their tails off at the chaos they’ve unleashed upon their household.

Hop finds himself staring up at the ceiling, elbows and knees digging into both his sides, Dreepy crawling into his hair, a Drakloak taking his glasses for a spin.

The sound of heavy footsteps follows.

Hop blinks as a familiar orange snout comes into view, looking a little odd from this angle. All teeth and maw and claw. Arthur observes the scene with no small amount of exasperation and resignation. Poor guy has to deal with all their nonsense on a daily basis.

“Hi,” Hop says sheepishly when the Charizard’s gaze falls upon him. “We’re home.”

Arthur breathes out a steady stream of smoke, eyes glinting with amusement. Setting aside the need to demand order around the place for now, he bends down and playfully ‘boops' Hop’s nose with a single claw-tip.

Hop laughs.

Yeah.

They’re home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leon’s Legion is made up of various platoons of Dreepy and Drakloak. Galahad, Gwin, and Gwen each commandeer their respective garrisons, with Leon serving as their Commander in Chief.
> 
> for reference (because as their family grows, there are more Pokémon names to remember wow i'm sorry there are so many i'll try not to overwhelm you within the coming chapters):
> 
> Hop's Squad  
> Latios: Eltanin  
> Flaaffy: Altais
> 
> Leon's Squad  
> Charizard: Arthur  
> Haxorus: Mordred  
> Dragapult (father): Galahad  
> Dragapult (son): Gwin  
> Dragapult (daughter): Gwen  
> Aegislash: Excalibur  
> Mr. Rime: Merlin  
> Dreepy and Drakloak Army: Leon's Legion (there's like a million and you bet leon named each and every one of them and can tell them apart without issue)
> 
> Raihan's Squad  
> Duraludon: Lulu  
> Flygon: Flo  
> Goodra: Dee  
> Turtonator: Tito  
> Drampa: Pops


	2. on that fateful night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fated meetings abound. hop does his best to muddle through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little more experimental than others I've written, especially the latter half. I had a lot of fun writing it, so I hope you enjoy!

The end of the week finds Hop puttering around the laboratory’s backyard.

Hacking away at dead shrubbery, tearing clingy, invasive vines from centuries old brick, plucking withered weeds from their roots; it’s all work he’s never taken issue with, not even as a child. Crawling around in the dirt, dealing with pests and making sure the farm looked as lovely as the blooms themselves was all but ingrained into every fiber of his muscles, the very marrow in his bones. Admittedly, it doesn’t come as naturally as it once did. His back and ankles are already aching from sitting on his haunches, the skin of his fingers blistering from labor requiring more than furtive pen strokes and page flipping.

Hop has to wonder if his mother is laughing at him, wherever she is, watching her once proud farm boy mutter and complain and recoil in disgust at the sight of dirt beneath his fingernails, huffing and puffing about the mud caking onto his neatly pressed trousers and the sweat and the filth and the effort.

Hop hates messes— _hates_ making a mess of himself and his appearance—but some sacrifices are necessary, especially when they’re for the greater good. The sooner he gets the yard prepped and ready for the greenhouse, the sooner he’ll get around to growing and maintaining dozens of hard to come by medicinal herbs and berries. If he can manage to get them flourishing here, they’ll be readily accessible to those in need. Especially Nurse Joyce next door, who often finds herself at the mercy of waitlists for medication of the more organic variety.

If it’ll help, it’s more than worth the effort, even if it means ruining his brand new pair of Wooloo socks.

“I should have dressed down,” Hop says for perhaps the tenth time that afternoon, grimacing as he pulls a particularly pungent smelling root from its burrow. It’s rotted. Beyond salvation. He tosses it into its respective pile.

He chances a glance over at Eltanin, expecting a dirty look. He made that very same suggestion this morning. Hop hadn’t listened, adamant about the standard button up, waistcoat and tie combination, confident he could avoid ruining his ensemble. How could he ever show his face to Professor Magnolia and Sonia if word got out he’d been faffing around in casual dress at the workplace?

…on second thought, they probably wouldn’t care, but _Hop_ would. He has the image of a respectable gentleman to maintain, one capable of addressing the concerns of the public; of everyone who relies on him for insight. Slacking in his duties, even the more superficial aspects, is unacceptable.

Instead of the withering glare he expects, Hop finds Eltanin’s attention diverted upwards, his frown firm as he scrutinizes the rooftops. Or perhaps the sky? It’s unclear. Hop tries to follow his line of sight, but finds nothing out of the ordinary or peculiar. Just a bunch of brick and heavy grey clouds. That’s unfortunate. He hopes they don’t develop into anything more.

A questioning glance at Altais finds her in the same state, eyes focused elsewhere. Her horns crackle with electricity, twitching slightly.

“Is everything all right?” Hop asks, further unnerved when he receives no answer. They’ve been behaving oddly all day, anxious and on edge, as if they’re on the precipice of reacting to something. Exactly _what_ , Hop is unsure of. All he knows is it’s making _his_ skin itch, watching them shift and wait and _watch_. Maybe they’re just really excited about the upcoming evening spectacle? Of all the collecting and observing ahead of them?

Somehow, Hop has a feeling it’s more than that.

Deciding it best to continue with landscaping another day, Hop gathers all the piles into bags, setting a few aside for composting and the rest for the city's wandering Trubbish and Garbodor. He doesn’t usually approve of having them scour his rubbish bins. Their stomachs aren’t nearly as ironclad as the general public would like to believe. The myriad of gastrointestinal issues plaguing their species are directly linked to poor diet and their continued usage as bottomless garbage bins. The mere thought is enough to set Hop’s blood boiling. Fortunately, the purely organic nature of this particular heap will fair better on their sensitive stomachs. They could use the extra vitamins and minerals.

Just as he’s tying up the last of the bags, brows furrowed at the sight of Eltanin’s ears flicking back and forth as if they’re antennae struggling to reach a signal, Altais replicating the movements with her tail, the faint sound of someone entering the premises reaches him.

“Knock-knock! Anyone home?”

A familiar voice. Not one he’s expecting today, although that matters very little in his line of work.

“…Professor? Are you around? I can come back tomorrow if you aren’t.”

“In a moment!” He quickly calls out, scrambling to his feet. He’s about to suggest Eltanin and Altais head inside as well, but they haven’t moved an inch from where they’re both standing and do not seem inclined to acknowledge his presence any time soon. He loathes to leave them like this, the urge to snap them out of whatever trance they’ve fallen into tugging at him relentlessly.

“Whoa! What’s this button do?”

Oh no.

An apology for his partners ringing out in his heart, Hop only gives himself enough time to kick off his loafers to avoid making a mess of the floors before rushing in. _Nobody_ is allowed to touch his equipment because the last time it happened, (within the _first week_ of the lab’s operation) it resulted in the fire squad being called in and a very _very_ long conversation with Galar’s primary telecommunication’s agency about the dangers of irresponsible signal interference.

The Chairman got a nice laugh out of it, at least. So did Leon, but Leon laughs at most things because Leon is a very joyful person.

“ _Don’t touch,_ ” The words come out in a jumble of syllables, Hop nearly biting his tongue off in his haste to save everyone from another act of unintentional regional vandalism. “Please.” He adds, almost as an afterthought when he doesn’t _need_ to, because _everyone_ knows the golden rule by now.

“Gotcha,” His visitor’s smile is charmingly innocent, her blonde ringlets bouncing with her swift backwards skip away from his desk. “I can resist…or maybe not. Nice timing.”

“I’m quick on my feet when it matters.”

“Pretty nifty skill. Are you sure you don’t want to join up with the Union? I can definitely vouch for you.”

“That’s not really my kind of fieldwork, but thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“No problem,” Sophie grins and it lights up her face beautifully, as bright as the golden accents on her otherwise inky black and white uniform. Monochrome isn’t a color scheme he associates with her vibrant personality and preference for pastels, but she wears it well, her badge proudly glinting in the laboratory’s soft light. “We environmental conservation pals have to stick together.”

“Naturally,” Hop says, nodding a greeting at the Pokémon standing stoically beside her. A Bisharp. He's a little shy, so Hop smiles at him. He timidly waves back. “Would you two like to have a seat? Perhaps something to drink?”

Sophie seems ready to take him up on his offer. A nudge from her Bisharp implies that’s not in the cards today.

“Oh, I’d love to, but this is an in-and-out visit,” She points to the manila folder on his desk. “Just dropping off some files. HQ sends their thanks. You really helped us out on that last case.”

“Of course,” He says graciously. He’s always happy to help Hammerlocke’s Ranger Base. They always take Hop’s suggestions and considerations to heart. It’s the least he can do, especially when their goals align perfectly. “It’s no trouble. Are you certain you can’t stay? I still have a tin of those biscuits you like.”

“Don’t tempt me like that. You’ll never get me out of your hair,” Sophie laughs. “Maybe next time. I’m still on duty. Gotta finish showing our newbie around the place and get to monitoring the hills. We’ve got some big wigs setting up camp there today,” She rolls her eyes. “Real pain in the bottom, those blokes. They’re making glorified security personnel out of the ranger force. As if we don’t have anything better to do.”

“I’m sure they must have their reasons,” Hop replies sympathetically. Sophie definitely isn’t made for standing around idle. “I hope your tour fares well. It’s always nice to see another new face around here.”

Sophie perks up instantly.

“Yeah!” She agrees. “Different is always nice. He’s new—er—actually, maybe not new? To the profession, I mean. An overseas transfer. I’m helping him get acquainted with the city. You know how wind-y the streets here can be.”

“Very confusing.”

“ _Super_ confusing,” Sophie looks over her shoulder, towards the window where a shadowy figure presides over Hop’s flower stands outside. “Actually, why don’t I invite him in to say hi? He’ll be taking over the Main Street patrol rotations, so you’re going to run into each other often. It’ll be good for him to know exactly who he swore an oath to protect.”

Hop frowns.

“The Pokémon?”

Sophie rolls her eyes.

“ _You_ , silly. Our crown jewel. If the apocalypse comes calling, _you’re_ our priority. The Pokémon Ranger creed explicitly states that.”

“It _does not_.”

“The one in our hearts does.”

Hop sputters in embarrassment. Sophie laughs off his reaction, heading for the door.

“Heya!” She calls outside. “Come in for a sec. There’s someone you should meet.”

Hop composes himself the best he can, eager to make a good impression. There’s a strange thought niggling at the back of his mind, prodding at him, insisting he’s forgotten something important. He ignores it. He doesn’t believe he has.

“Like I said before, this is the lab. We work pretty closely, so you’ll be seeing a lot of this place in the future. And in this lab…” Sophie trails off, stepping aside to make room for her new coworker. “…we have Hop! He’s our resident professor and a really great chap. You can count on him for anything poké-related. He’s an expert.”

Hop is about to deny it, unwilling to overstate his capabilities even now that he’s technically qualified to do so, but the words end up dying in his throat because—

_Green._

So very _green_.

Not the dull sort either. Vibrant and alive, vacillating between muted earthy hues and glittering sea-foam, edging along the coast of an ocean blue. Like emerald and sapphire, except not emerald and sapphire, because people can’t have emerald and sapphire for eyes. Maybe Sableye can—he’s read a report about that once before—but not people.

Flickering around the room, scanning every detail of every corner critically, lingering long enough to induce a sense of self-consciousness, those indecisively colored irises finally fall upon Hop, clouding over until they are neigh unreadable.

Strange.

“Funny,” He—the curious cloudy green eye possessor—says, lips quirking in an almost mocking fashion. “Was expecting some old guy in a lab coat.”

Hop should be offended. That can be interpreted as an offensive statement, the lilt to his tone implying incredulity. Implying he looks like an assistant, not someone at the helm of an important operation which, granted, is a fair assessment. He _was_ an assistant until only recently. He doesn’t feel any different from before besides all the added stress and responsibility. He’s still trying to fill shoes he’s not certain he can.

He should make a snappy comeback.

He doesn’t.

“I have a lab coat,” He blurts out. He does. It’s slung over his desk chair because he didn’t want to get it dirty.

“Yeah? Guess being half-wrong doesn't have to be a bad thing,” Green eyes replies and—wait—now he’s _smiling_. Friendly. He’s amused and his _eyes_. Hop might have misread that previous interaction. Why did he immediately assume he was being mocked? He doesn’t do that anymore. Not very often, at least. “Good to meet you, Hop. Name’s Victor.”

“I’m Hop.”

“You are,” Now, he— _Victor_ —is _definitely_ amused, stifling what appears to be a grin. For a moment, Hop doesn’t understand why, but then he recalls Sophie’s already introduced him and he— _Victor_ —has already recited his name back to him and suddenly he's getting the distinct impression he’s making a fool of himself over a simple introductory meeting. “It’s a nice name. Derivative of Humulus lupulus. Hops, right?”

“I—yes,” Hop blinks, dumbfounded. He’s yet to have anybody make the connection. He doesn’t blame them. It’s not common knowledge. “That’s correct.”

“Cool,” Victor holds out a gloved hand. Black and white with golden stitching to match the rest of the uniform. “Lookin’ forward to working with you. I’ll try not to be a pain in the ass, but no promises.”

“Yes. Likewise,” A handshake. Yes. This. Hop can handle this. Formalities are good. Familiar territory. He mirrors the motion, ready to prove his competence to himself by behaving like a normal human being with good manners when the niggling at the back of his mind returns full force. He’s looking at his hand and realizing it is covered in dirt. And so are his cuffs and his sleeves and his shirt and his trousers. Probably his face too, because he’s been swiping at it constantly to wipe away sweat.

Dread creeps up on him. He didn’t have time to clean up. He ran out to meet Sophie without a second thought.

He’s about to snap his hand back and apologize for meeting them both in this state because it’s inappropriate and disrespectful, but Victor grabs his hand anyway, giving away nothing close to disgust or revulsion or offense. He smiles, and it’s a very nice smile, shiny and white and _sharp_. Like—like _Raihan’s_ , except not quite draconic.

It’s…something else entirely.

“Pokémon,” Hop says with zero preamble. What is wrong with him? He’s just saying words. It’s very concerning. “Yours?”

“Around here somewhere,” Clearly, Victor doesn’t have trouble interpreting the nonsense spewing from his mouth. “Scouting everything out. Exploring.”

Hop tilts his head.

“Free range parenting?”

Victor laughs and teeth and— _yes_ , very sharp and white and _sharp_. “You’re funny.”

“Wish we could stay longer, but we should get going,” Sophie says, pleased with their exchange. She enjoys when everyone gets along. “Sorry to barge in on you like this, Hop.”

“I don’t mind,” He tells her, not quite able to look away from Victor’s green green eyes. He stares back and it’s weird how _not_ weird it feels. Hop used to have trouble gauging how much eye-contact is too much eye-contact, afraid of offending or angering or annoying, but this is different.

He’s not sure how.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you, Professor,” Victor emphasizes that last bit with this _look_ and this _tone_ and his green green eyes turn turquoise and sparkle. “This route’s mine now. Hope we can get along. Look out for each other.”

“Of course,” Hop nods, shoulders slumping with relief. He shares a very cordial relationship with most of the city’s rangers. He hopes for the same with Victor. They should all look out for one another. “I wish you well with your acclimation. As Sophie’s said, if you’ve ever a need for anything, the door here is always open. I’ll help however I can.”

“Sounds good.”

They take their leave after that. Hop waves them off at the door.

When he heads inside, it’s directly towards his desk, where he plops onto his chair and buries his face into his filthy hands, uttering a sound that most resembles a cross between an injured Walrein and an off-key Obstagoon.

He stays like that, cringing and convulsing at his social ineptitude until the front door clinks open again and he is accosted with a less than welcome snide remark.

“You’re looking more pathetic than usual, bun-head. Is this how you welcome your guests?”

“I don’t recall you ever being welcome here,” Hop snaps, straightening up to glare. “You can leave.”

Bede hunches his shoulders and sneers.

Stepping out from behind him, Marnie sighs.

“Can you two not do this the moment we get here?”

“He’s the one having a meltdown in public.”

“You are the _literal_ embodiment of public meltdowns,” Marnie provides dryly. “Don’t have much room to talk. Leave ‘im alone.”

Bede rolls his eyes at Hop’s smug look, flopping onto the loveseat he always claims whenever he has the gall to intrude upon his territory. Why he bothers visiting is about as big a mystery as the gravity keeping the big fluffy curls on his head big and fluffy. Like a Mareep or a Wooloo, except not cute _at all_.

Not so mysterious, actually. Definitely not. Hop knows why. He’s always known.

It’s Marnie. Marnie is _always_ the common denominator between them; the link holding their trio of disastrous twenty-somethings together. She’s of the opinion they need companionship, the kind only they can understand. A kindred spirits sort of thing because, apparently, that’s what they are. She insists on it.

Hop isn’t privy to the entire story behind Bede’s tumultuous attitude, nor why he’s so attached to Marnie despite the years they've known each other, but he can recognize that same yearning for kinship within himself; recalls his own childish desperation for understanding and acceptance all those years ago. How happy and pleased and _wonderful_ he felt to have someone who listened and validated his feelings, for _once_.

That’s why he staunchly resisted the urge to take a nasty swing at Bede’s dumb nose upon their first meeting, held his tongue when he inquired as to why Marnie would deem his companionship necessary or enjoyable, because one look at that goading expression, at that laughably thin front of pride and anxiety, said more than words ever could.

Hop gets it. Bede’s a downright _prat_ at the best of times, but he gets it. Hop’s got more than enough experience being one himself, after all.

“Workin’ out back?” Marnie asks, smiling when she catches him eyeing the bag in her hand. It’s got the logo for a café, meaning _goodies_ are in his future. “You’ve got a little…”

“I know,” Hop catches a look of his reflection on one of the many screens at his desk and grimaces. It’s more than just a little dirt, although he appreciates Marnie understating it. “I’m not sure why I thought I could manage.”

“Weren’t you born in a barn?” Bede asks, casting a lazy look over his nails. “Don’t you have a pair of, I don’t know, overalls? A straw hat? To work in? Like proper rural folk?”

 _so he does listen when I’m speaking_ , Hop thinks snidely, rolling his eyes. “Sure. I also have a tractor, but I wouldn’t want to damage your delicate eardrums with the noise. Opal would never forgive me. Neither would Morgan.”

As if on cue, Eltanin’s startled screech tears through the room. Hop’s heart nearly stops.

He jumps to his feet, ready to _fight defend protect_ when his petrified Latios zooms in and rams into his chest, whimpering and chirping and shivering, burying his snout into Hop’s neck, like he’s trying to crawl into his skin and hide there.

Slowly, as if stalking the shadows for prey, a tittering Hatterene teeters in, Altais at her side, exasperation written all over her face.

“Hello Morgan,” Hop greets politely, sighing when Eltanin takes cover behind him, hesitantly peeking over his shoulder and frantically looking away to avoid eye-contact. Seven foot dragon or not, some fears are never assuaged. At least he’s snapped out of whatever trance he was in. “Spooking my son again, are you?”

Morgan’s gleeful smile is answer enough. She’s quite fond of Eltanin, delights in teasing and making him squirm. Were it truly malicious, Hop would demand she stop, but from what he’s observed and understands of the fae, it seems to be in line with their version of ritualistic friendship acquisition. Apparently, a basic, friendly conversation is a foreign concept, considered too boring and monotonous.

Like trainer, like Pokémon, he supposes.

“Got some stuff,” Marnie says, gesturing towards the bag in her hand. “For later. Thought we could gnaw on these while we watch. Like a picnic, except scientific. A _scientific_ picnic.”

Hop blinks, at a loss for words.

“…Marnie, you’re a _genius_.”

She cracks a smile.

“Reckon yer rubbin’ off on me.”

They chat a while longer until Eltanin politely reminds Hop of the work he still has left to do. Marnie and Bede patiently wait for him to finish up (or rather Marnie does. Bede complains the whole time because Bede complains about _everything_ ) with his carefully divided piles of garbage before he finally locks the place up and heads out with them.

They’re bound for Hammerlocke Castle. If there’s anywhere to catch the perfect view of the sky, it’s at the city’s highest point and— _thankfully_ —Hop just so happens to live there. A happy coincidence, one he does not take for granted. Not in the slightest.

“Why are there more each time I come here?” Bede asks once they’re in the lobby and Hop is urging his Rotom to be cooperative for _once_ and get the elevator going for them. He’s staring at one of the many stone fixtures looming over them, where a friendly flock of Noibat and Vibrava are nestled, cowering under the weight of Morgan’s eerie smile. “Where do they even come from?”

“This is dragon country, mate,” Marnie replies, patting the heads of a Deino pair who wander past them, curious about the presence of more humans but not enough to distract them from hurrying after a Hakamo-o and Shelgon to play. “They’re practically sprouting from the ground. Ain’t that right, Hop?”

Not quite. Not at all. In actuality, it’s more that Raihan and Leon have developed a compulsion for taking in strays, because they are _ridiculous_ and refuse to set a limit on how many dragon children they look after.

‘ _We’ve got the room_ ,’ Hop recalls Raihan telling him once, at the beginning, when it was just one or two injured Trapinch in need of care and attention. When it was just about Hop and trusting him to stitch them up the same way he watched Professor Magnolia and Nurse Joyce do it. ’ _It’d be a waste not to use it_.’

And then Leon came in with a Fraxure, angry and indignant and _disgusted_ , because the folly of humanity and their cruelty isn’t something that sits well with a bloke who doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.

And then it wasn’t just one extra Dreepy in need of guidance or a lost Bagon, far from home, hungry and scared and away from everything they know. It was more and more and _more_ , until Hop jolted awake one morning, hunched over a makeshift cot, fingers curled around the tiny, fraying claws of a weak but _alive_ _alive_ _alive thank Arceus alive_ Jangmo-o, ripped from the clutches of death by his unsteady bloody hands to find his family asleep right next to him _always right next to him_. Leon and Raihan leaning on each other in their seats, Arthur’s head still on Hop’s lap, warm and present and grounding. He remembers looking up and seeing Lulu— _always awake always stalwart Lulu—_ gazing at him with something akin to _awe_ and _pride_ before finally— _finally—_ understanding.

They were running a sanctuary for the injured and lost and broken and Hop— _them, all of them, his family_ —couldn’t be happier; eager to do _more_.

“Dunno,” Hop says with a shrug, pleased when Rotom finally decides to cooperate and open the accursed elevator doors. “They sorta just show up sometimes.”

Once they’re upstairs and past the foyer—after greeting Lulu first _of course_ they greet Lulu first even prickly Bede can’t bring himself to resist the Duraludon’s charms—they stumble upon Leon and Raihan in the kitchen, giggling like school children.

“Hey kids!” Leon greets when he catches sight of them, a pair of light-up Charizard horns on his head. “Happy Wishing Star Shower Day!”

Bede frowns. He's obviously about to deny the existence of said holiday, but yelps instead because Marnie elbows him in the side to get him to stop talking like the good samaritan she is.

“Happy Wishing Star Shower Day,” She says back, passing over the bag of treats. “Got some stuff for the show,” She points at the red box Leon picks out. “They had lava cookies today. Thought you might appreciate a few.”

“Ace!” Leon’s eyes light up brilliantly, his grin blinding like the sun. If they picked it out of the sky and hung his brother up there instead, it wouldn’t make a difference. “Thanks, Miss Marnie.”

“No problem, old man.”

“Lee got us light ups,” Raihan explains upon noticing Hop’s questioning glance at the pair of Venusaur ears on his head. He plops a pair of Blastoise ones on Hop’s. “Hey now, don’t _you_ look fuckin’ adorable with those. Lemme snap a pic.”

“Sure,” Hop turns to Leon, pulling his arms back to resemble two cannons on his back. “You should edit it so it looks like I’m hitting him with a Hydro Pump.”

“Make it look like I’m using Flamethrower!” Leon quickly adds, baring his teeth like Arthur usually does when he’s incinerating his opponent. “Make sure we look cool, Rai!”

“Holy shit, that’s such a good idea _,_ I— _fuck!”_ Raihan exclaims suddenly. _“_ I should have brought my _green screen_ up here!”

“Can I be in it too?” Marnie asks, donning a pair of Pikachu ears. “I wanna use Aura Wheel.”

“But Pikachu can’t learn Aura Wheel.” Hop tells her sadly. It’s a shame, but it’s the truth.

Marnie clicks her tongue.

“If _I_ were a Pikachu, _I_ would know Aura Wheel.”

“You would. I one-hundred percent believe you would.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“You all are fucking _weird_.” Bede remarks. Bede’s remark is ignored and gets him a pair of Eevee ears and a choice between Quick Attack and Helping Hand.

He picks Quick Attack, the _coward_.

After the impromptu photoshoot, they head onto the terrace where Hop’s already set up all his gear in anticipation, including a very nifty telescope. The view of a dark sky and heavy grey clouds, the vaguest tinges of neon magenta lining them, makes him frown, his hopes for a clear view fizzling out quickly.

That isn’t what he finds himself most concerned about.

“You okay there, Artie?” Leon calls out, his own lips tugging into a frown at the sight of Arthur perched upon a sharp spire, his wings arched backwards, plumes of white smoke pouring from his maw and nostrils at a rapid rate. On a nearby turret, Mordred is growling, her back curved menacingly, tail violently knocking into the surrounding stone. Galahad, Gwin and Gwen, along with their respective platoons, are gathered around a spire parallel to Arthur’s, vanishing from sight between intervals. Cannons spark, Dreepy whimper, Drakloak flitter nervously.

Raihan’s team fares no better.

Dee is nervously pacing back and forth, her tendrils twitching, tail curled into a tight spiral. Flo’s antennae are pressed together, vibrating as quickly as his wings flutter, his usual carefree grin replaced with a deep grimace. Tito is tucked away at one corner, comforting a group of restlessSwablu despite his obvious uncertainty. Pops is calmly observing the sky, his fluffy eyebrows narrowed ever so slightly.

Lulu is standing beside Hop’s telescope, direct center, watching.

Waiting.

Curiously enough, Excalibur and Merlin do not seem at all affected by what’s happening. Rather, they both appear equally as confused by the actions of their teammates and friends.

Odd.

“They’ve been like this all day,” Leon says, eyebrows knit with concern. Hop can tell it’s been eating at him. Leon cannot be at peace when his partners are behaving oddly. “I kept trying to ask what was wrong but…”

“They’re not listening,” Hop finishes for him, eyes following Eltanin sail through the sky. He settles beside Arthur. The Charizard tilts his head in acknowledgment. Eltanin reciprocates. Barring that, their focus remains fixed on…he’s not quite sure. “Eltanin and Altais have been the same.”

“Reckon it has something to do with the shower?” Marnie asks, watching Altais trot to a stop beside Lulu and look at him oddly. He pats her head. “Wishing star energy maybe? Dynamax and Galar Particles and whatnot?”

Hop wracks his brain, trying to think of any prior instance of anything like this happening. He tries to recall a reading, a book, a report or a study documenting Pokémon behavioral patterns in relation to wishing pieces, stars or showers. If there is, he would have read it, because his time as Sonia’s assistant primarily consisted of following her lead on the Dynamax Phenomenon and all its individual mechanisms.

He never mentioned it to Sonia, but Dynamax Theory never really caught his interest or intrigued him enough to pursue further, something he’s now regretting, because he’s coming up short on anything that can help pinpoint what exactly is bothering the majority of his family. He knows of certain instances of sudden and abrupt Dynamaxing and Gigantamaxing. Isolated incidents in the wild. Nothing about wishing star showers making Pokémon— _dragons just the dragons that’s weird isn’t it why only them_ —anxious.

“Your overgrown Sandile start acting creepy on the day of a major wishing star shower, one you’ve been tracking and whinging about _constantly_ because you don’t get why the fuck the energy is having a field day fluctuating the way it is,” Bede snorts. “ _Must_ be a coincidence. Nothing to see here, except the fucking _Orbeetle_ about to abduct and take them back to their home planet. Good riddance.”

Marnie hums.

“Avery would’ve liked to see that. Should’ve invited him too. Maybe it’ll get on the news. I’ll record it for him just in case.”

“Are you listening to what I’m _saying_?”

Hop tunes out their conversation, heading over to his telescope to start preparing. The sky keeps getting darker and darker, crushing his hopes more and more. He doesn’t want to give up. He can’t do much about the Pokémon since he doesn’t know what’s bothering them in the first place, but he can start taking notes and hopes he finds a link; a factor he isn’t taking into consideration.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Raihan joins him, laying an arm upon Lulu’s head to rest his chin upon. “Things’ll clear up. You’ll get your star shower. And plenty of stars to go along with it.”

“Is that your official weather report?” Hop questions, smiling at his confidence. If Raihan’s the one saying it, that bodes well for him. He’s never _really_ wrong, even when he is. “Mind giving me a percentage? Just to be realistic?”

“Let me run the calcs real quick,” Raihan closes his eyes, hums a few notes of a song Hop knows is from Piers’s latest album, and finally says, “one-hundred point _one_ percent.”

“A percentage over a hundred? Is that possible?”

“The Great Raihan makes even the impossible _possible._ That’s how powerful he truly is.”

“Nah, I think he’s just trying to cover up how he’s not good at math,” Leon interjects, laughing at the offended look Raihan grants him. “He’s a theory kinda guy. All about law, not calculators.”

“ _That is_ —“ Raihan cuts his rant short. “actually, I can’t argue with that. But the one-hundred point one percent is true. You’ve gotta believe me, kid.”

Hop doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t want to jinx it. He wants everything to work out well because he’s been looking forward to this for so long. As unlikely as it is for the coal black sky to suddenly clear up without rhyme or reason, he desperately wishes for it to do just that.

“Grace told me something interesting the other day,” Hop says instead, desperate to get his mind off the growing pessimism rankling his insides. He recalls the little tidbit of folklore Grace kindly shared with him and figures now’s a good a time as any to inquire about it. “May I ask you about it?”

“Sure, Sweet-pea. Shoot.”

“She mentioned a story her mother used to tell her, one her grandmother knew as well. She said that her mother said that the wishing stars and the wishing pieces came from this… _being_ , I guess. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she said they tore themselves apart for Galar, until there was nothing left of them,” Hop pauses, a sense of sorrow ringing deeply within him. “She said it used to make her sad. Have you…have you ever heard a story like that? Maybe from your grandfather?”

Raihan listens to him attentively but offers no immediate response when he’s done. He considers the story silently, eyes fluttering shut for a few thoughtful moments, and Hop is almost _positive_ he’s going to say ‘yes actually I _have_ heard of something like that’ and he gets _excited_ because Raihan is _always_ a reliable fountain of information about the past and present and future _but_ —

“Nope!” He chirps, crushing all those dreams. At the very least, he looks apologetic about not being able to offer further elaboration. “Afraid I haven’t heard anything like that. Galar—Arceus, just _Hammerlocke_ —has got tons of stories like that. They’re not always consistent and readily available, but they’re there,” He sighs, taking his headband off to run a hand through his dreads. “Sorry, Hopscotch. You were expecting more, weren’t you?”

“I was,” He sighs, shoulders slumping. “Thanks anyway. Maybe I’ll ask Grace about it again or search the vault.”

“If you keep at it, I’m sure you’ll find something,” Leon pats his back comfortingly. “Big bro believes in you. He knows there’s no stopping a Hoppip once they’re on the trail!”

“Just don’t lose any sleep over it, all right?” Raihan warns, chiding him the way he _always_ does when he thinks Hop’s about to go overboard and drown himself in research. Granted, he’s kinda _right_. “Like I said, there’re plenty of other stories out there. If this one doesn’t pan out, why not look into those? Spikemuth’s got about a million of ‘em. Reckon you can get Piers to spill the details if he’s in the right mood. Just get Marnie to team up with you.”

“I guess you’re right,” Hop smiles, feeling better about the whole thing. Raihan smiles too and then Leon smiles and they’re all smiling and it’s nice. “I’ll do that.”

“Yeah!” Leon cheers. “And, hey, who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to connect those back to the one Grace told you and it’ll all make sense. Y’know, reverse engineer the truth…or something,” He laughs. “Right?”

“Right,” Hop says. Hammerlocke isn’t the end all be all of Galar. There are plenty of other places to look for information. He just needs to be smart about where to find it. “That’s a great idea, Leon.”

“Isn’t it? I have great ideas all the time.”

“Careful there, Lee. Your ego is showing.”

“I know. Gaze upon it with _awe_.”

Hop gets back to work after that, splitting his time between adjusting the settings on his telescope and radars and fretting over how increasingly agitated their Pokémon are becoming. He hates that he can’t do anything, can’t get through to them no matter how much he pokes and prods. He’s almost tempted to call the whole observation party-thing off and force everyone inside to sleep whatever’s irritating them off, but by the time he considers going through with it, his and Sonia’s estimated time is only minutes away, the energy readings on his meter flying through the roof.

They’re far higher than anything Hop recalls recording on the field exercises Sonia used to send him on, higher than anything he recalls even Professor Magnolia recording in all her years of researching the phenomenon. It gets to the point where the numbers are rocketing up so quickly, the digits are replaced with question marks, a concerning error message obscuring the screen and warning him to recharge the battery.

“That’s not ominous,” Bede provides unhelpfully, casting a skeptical look upward. He’s still got the Eevee ears on. Hop thinks he actually likes them. “Sure we’re not wasting our time here? That doesn’t even look like _rain_ out there. It looks apocalyptic.”

Beside him, Morgan nods. She’s gazing out calmly, neither anxious nor afraid, serene. She looks amused. Hop wonders if that’s typical fairy behavior or if she’s actually aware of what _any_ _of this_ means.

“Any ideas?” He asks. A shot in the dark if there ever were one. He’s not expecting an answer. Predictably, Morgan doesn’t give him one. She _smiles_ at Hop, the tendril atop her head swaying back and forth. She’s humming, soft and low.

Hop isn’t unsure what to make of that.

“T-minus fifty seconds to launch,” Raihan tells him, seemingly unfazed by anything that’s happening. He’s neither smiling nor frowning, although there’s an odd glint to his eye, as if he’s anticipating something. Waiting for it.

For _Arceus’s sake_ , he looks like _Lulu_.

“Artie…” Leon calls out weakly. Cerulean flames burst from Arthur’s tail and mouth, molten, magma-like fire dripping down from his jaw. “What’s going on…?”

“T-minus forty,” Raihan reports. Lulu tenses beside him.

Hop’s insides are coiling uncomfortably. Marnie suddenly appears next to him, munching on a lava cookie. How she can eat when the sky is—quite literally— pitch black is beyond him.

“Whoa,” She garbles over her treat at a flash of lightning. “Did’ya see that?”

“See what?”

“It was…I dunno, like a shadow?” She frowns. “Like there’s something _hiding_ there. Behind the clouds. Was kinda spindly and…long. I guess.”

“This is fucked,” Bede says—once again—rather unhelpfully. “What the fuck.”

“T-minus thirty.”

“Should we be taking cover?” Leon asks Raihan, a rare instance of legitimate and genuine fear visible on his face. “The bunker is stocked isn’t it? Should we hide there?”

Hop does a double take.

“Wait, _what_?” He says incredulously. “We have a _bunker_?”

“Never know what might happen,” Raihan explains with a casual air to his words. His face darkens for a split second. “I’m not letting my family fucking perish if everything goes to shit. We’re _survivors_ , _dammit_.”

“I think one of his great ancestors was a doomsday prepper,” Leon stage-whispers to the three of them. “We prolly won’t ever need it but, you know, we _have_ it.”

“You better leave some fucking space for Opal,” Bede demands. “You think the new world is gonna make it without her grouchy-ass wisdom?”

“Do you take me for an idiot, kid?” Raihan’s scoffs. “Of course there’s room for her. And you too, ya little shit.”

“I don’t need it.”

“The _hell_ you don’t need it. I’m dragging you in kicking and screaming if I have to.”

“How many seconds left?” Marnie asks, stuffing another lava cookie into her mouth, cheeks covered in crumbs. Hop wipes them away, smiling at the thumbs up she gives him.

“T-minus ten.”

Hop nervously fiddles with the lens of his telescope. What they’re all anxiously awaiting is unclear.

From their vantage point all the way up, he can vaguely see people standing in the streets, forming crowds and pointing up and up and up.They’re probably terrified. Hop knows he is. This morning he woke up with the intent of finding himself a measly sample of—what— a space rock? An ancient space rock Galar uses to make their Pokémon look big and go boom on the pitch?

Now the sky is completely dark, not a spec of blue to be seen. Not a hint of color.

Well, besides that magenta lining.

Besides that magenta lining crackling across the blanket of darkness above them, forming a spiderweb of light.

“What in the fuck,” Bede repeats, and Hop has to agree. What in the fudge indeed.

Raihan doesn’t even bother with the rest of the countdown. It’s clear when it ends, because the moment it does he places one hand on Hop’s shoulder and the other on Leon’s and squeezes and the _sky_ —

The _sky_.

The spiderwebs of light melt into one another and there’s an explosion of more magenta light, the same that lined the dark clouds and a _boom_ that shakes Hop to his very core and _suddenly_ —

Suddenly.

The sky is no longer black.

It’s blue again and there are faint fluffy clouds and what looks like _millions_ of tiny star fragments raining down upon them, upon Hammerlocke and _Galar_ and Hop can’t tear his eyes away. The meter in his hands is going berserk but he can’t bring himself to care because—

The _sky_ and the _stars_. The _wishing_ pieces. It’s like traveling through infinity and space and time at the same time there are so so many and—

It’s _beautiful_.

_Thank you._

Hop thinks it, _thank you_ , suddenly and abruptly. Who he’s thanking is unclear, but he supposes he _is_ very thankful. The world hasn’t ended, so no crowding into the unknown bunker he had no idea existed prior to today. That’s good. He gets to watch the pretty star shower after all and take notes and maybe find a good sample or two afterwards.

All’s well that ends well.

Except, the Pokémon are still tense.

Hop can see them and they aren’t any more relaxed than they were before. Arthur is outright growling at the sky, Eltanin’s feathers fluffing up menacingly next to him.

It’s not menacing at all. He’s too _cute._

“Look at that one,” Leon points out. Hop follows his gaze and, yeah, that’s a _really_ pretty star. It’s bright pink and radiant. It even has one of those tiny and cute little shooting star tails he always doodles in his journals. “Reminds me of you, Rai.”

“In what way?”

“Bright and pretty. Unique. A real beauty.”

“Lee…”

“Rai…”

“Hey bun-head.”

“Yes?”

“Your dads are really fucking gay,” Bede tells him, sparing a single annoyed glance at the couple currently embracing one another, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. “Like, _really_ gay.”

“Is that a problem?”

“For you maybe. They’re outdoing your gayness. You should work on that. Who the hell lets their brother beat them out in gayness? Try a little harder will you?”

“I’ll have you know Hop is the best gay,” Marnie says, and Hop feels very proud because Marnie doesn’t hand out compliments she doesn’t mean. “The old man is a weakling in comparison to him.”

“Thank you, Marnie,” Hop says, touched by the sentiment. “That means a lot.”

“You know I’m always on yer side, mate. Always count on it,” She looks back at the sky. “I feel like that one’s gettin’ closer. The pretty Raihan star, I mean.”

“That does appear to be the case,” Hop peeks into his telescope. It looks very close. Maybe the magnification is off? He fiddles around with the settings. “Let’s see here…”

There’s a lull of silence.

“…Bun-head.”

“Yes?”

“Bun-head.”

“We’ve already cleared up the gay thing, Bede.”

“Bun-head.”

“ _What_?”

“ _Bun-head_.”

“Would you _stop_ —“

“Look up, you _fuck_.”

Hop does. The star is even larger now. He winces against the light it’s casting down on them, astounded by the sheer energy radiating off of it. He tries to calculate the distance mentally, tries to estimate where he can expect it to land so he can go look for it later, maybe get some help with tracking it down.

He’s running the numbers in his head, trying not to let the light bother him when he realizes the star is getting bigger and bigger, closer and closer. It’s not changing course, he’s not watching it pass them by at a distance. It’s moving quickly.

Very quickly.

Holding steady.

In their direction.

Directly at them.

Directly at him.

Directly at _Hop_.

Everything moves in slow-motion after that.

Hop hears the muted sound of his name being screamed, of Bede’s shrill screech and Marnie’s soft grunt. Hears his own blood pumping, his heart _beating_ before he’s grabbed by the scruff of his collar shirt and hauled to the side. He tumbles to the ground, sees a flash of Leon’s violet hair and Raihan’s orange headband.

The wind is knocked out of him, because as the profession of Bewear bodyguard necessitates, Leon tackles like one of those Unovan linebackers. Like a full on _truck_.Hop’s happy his brother cares enough about him to save his life like this, appreciates it more than words can ever describe, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t mean he thinks his ribs aren’t cracked and that his spleen hasn’t ruptured.

He wheezes, hacking up oxygen and carbon and monoxide and bone and maybe a little blood. That might be a gross exaggeration on his part though. Raihan says he can be dramatic sometimes; that he gets it from Leon. He’s inclined to agree.

He vaguely hears a violent, quaking crash a ways away. He hears Dee’s high-pitched scream and Mordred’s deafening roar before there’s more purple in his face.

“Are you okay?” Leon quickly rattles out. Somehow, he’s still got those light up Charizard horns on his head. Hop wants to point it out and laugh but he doesn’t, because he processes the panic and terror in his brother’s voice instantly. It’s inappropriate to joke around when Leon is worried. Hop forces a smile so that he won’t worry. Leon worries enough about him as it is.

“Peachy,” He garbles out, allowing his brother to slowly pull him into a seated position. He takes deep breaths. They’re a little painful. Leon would’ve been a hit in Unova. “What was that?”

“A big ass rock,” Bede provides, dusting off his clothes. He points to the smoking, meteorite-esque object lodged into the patio table the very same moment Raihan yells “ _my patio"_ in despair.

“Nice save, old man,” Marnie says, grabbing Hop’s hands to help him stand, following suit with Leon.

“Thanks. A little too close for comfort though,” Leon grimaces, helping Raihan up in turn. “What are the odds?”

Instinctively, without skipping a beat, everyone turns to Hop.

He bristles.

“What?”

“Only you,” Bede mutters, shaking his head. “Of course all the crazy shit happens when you’re around.”

“His lucky star is more like a swingin' pendulum,” Marnie, the _traitor_ , adds. “Astronomical odds only with this one. Bet he’s got some kinda magic blood. Bet he’s the real moon goddess. Move over Pretty Guardian Bunny.”

“She’s not a goddess, she’s a _princess_.”

“What’s the difference?”

“No, _no_. You two have got it all wrong,” Leon lays a hand on Hop’s head. “He’s the Pokémon Professor Prince.”

“Stop saying that!” Hop pleads, cheeks heating up. “You’ve got the whole neighborhood in on it!”

“What? They say it because it’s _true_.”

“It’s _embarrassing_.”

“It’s embarrassing because it’s _true_.”

“Raihan, _please_. Tell him to _stop_.”

Raihan does not, in fact, tell him to stop, because he is too busy mourning the destruction of his patio.

“I can’t even have it repaired,” He bemoans. One by one, the Pokémon surround him in solidarity, the disturbance holding all their senses hostage finally relenting its grip. Dee lays a comforting hand on her trainer’s shoulder, although her gaze is fixed on the rock, much like everyone else. “It’s beyond salvaging.”

“A little elbow grease and it’ll be good as new,” Leon tells him, already measuring everything out with his hands. Hop is under no impression the entire set won’t be completely repaired in a fortnight. “No worries, babe.”

“You’re so good to me, Lee.”

“You deserve the best, darling.”

“Lee…”

“Rai…”

“What do you think it is?” Marnie asks, nudging Hop in the side. “Doesn’t look like a piece or a star. Looks like a…”

“…like a big ass rock?” Bede supplies.

Marnie nods.

“Yeah. That. Were you expecting something like this?”

“Not at all,” Hop was expecting the standard stars, like the ones Sonia keeps behind glass cases at her desk. The ones Oleana always brought by and rattled off facts about for Hop when he was a child. Bede’s description isn’t far off the mark. For how much light it was radiating as it raced through the sky, it’s lacking any of that luminescence now, resembling a piece of coal more than the pretty star crystals littering the ground. Even _those_ aren’t anything to bat an eye at.

Hop plucks his glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose. Looking into this is going to be a _pain,_ he can already tell. Can _sense_ the impending headaches to come.

Dynamax Theory is so _annoying_. Why couldn’t it have been a dragon? Or at least been dragon-related?

“We should probably move it,” He says, reaching for one of the splintered legs of the obliterated patio table.

Marnie’s eyebrows nearly reach her hairline in dismay.

“Yer gonna _move_ it?”

“Yes. I need to get it to the lab.”

“What if it’s _radioactive_? What if it’s _toxic_? Hop, you can’t just go around _keepin_ ’ things like this.”

“If I want to find out what they are, I will,” He pokes it tentatively. Marnie runs a hand over her face. Bede takes a cautious step back. Hop ignores them, focusing on rolling it off the pile of splinter and ash. “Wishing Pieces and Wishing Stars aren’t known to be harmful or cause any lasting, negative affects on people, Pokémon, or the environment. Quite the opposite, in fact. Studies have shown their benefits far exceed any damage they can pose. Their presence on farms and orchards has often resulted in bountiful harvests. Waterways where they’ve been collected are some of the cleanest in Galar. Granted, only a small number of those studies have been conducted. A large part of the assertions are primarily conjecture and not direct correlation nor causation. Oh, and, _of course_ , Wishing Stars also serve as perpetual energy conductors if harnessed correctly—a rather difficult and arduous process from what I’ve observed—but they aren’t anywhere close to being abundant or powerful enough to warrant the expense of their search. Galar’s shift towards more renewable energy sources has rendered any interest in them within the sector close to nonexistent. Now, in the interest of all involved parties, we _must_ take the perspective of environmentalists into account when we discuss—“

The poking stick in Hop’s hand snags on an edge of the big rock.

It cracks.

Hop’s heart stops beating momentarily.

He’s destroyed the specimen. He poked it with a stick and destroyed it.

How will he ever show his face to Sonia and Professor Magnolia? What will he _say_?

_‘Hello good afternoon yeah hey do you know I destroyed a rare specimen by poking it with a stick like a five year old child please find it within yourselves to still muster respect for the professional I clearly am not.’_

Hop is halfway through considering retiring from Professorship and wondering what the job market is like for Wooloo wranglers when the crack fissures further and the rock splits clean in half.

Marnie gasps. Bede breathes in sharply.

Leon and Raihan are still fawning over one another.

Hop reaches out, doesn’t really hear Marnie’s startled warning or Bede’s muttered skepticism regarding his actual intelligence. He just _reaches_ , because it feels _right_ , like something he’s supposed to do even when all the alarm bells in his heard are going off, telling him he’s a fool and should consider a lifestyle more appropriate for soft boys like him. Soft boys who like Mareep and Wooloo and _dragons_.

He ignores them.

He reaches and grabs and picks up and looks.

A gem, round and small and smooth, reflecting the soft evening light, glimmering beautifully in his hand. It’s a deep dark midnight and transparent neon magenta all at once, specks of the very galaxy spiraling within. Or maybe a tiny nebula or universe or milky way?

An optical illusion perhaps? The effects of gravitational pull or the climate or some other possibility Hop isn’t thinking of because the gem is soft and warm and gentle on his skin. Like it’s nestling and resting and relaxing, sinking into his palm.

“Pretty.” Marnie says quietly. She still looks worried, but also intrigued. “Like the sky at night.”

“Like your eyes.” Bede tells Morgan. She preens and pats his head, flattered by the compliment.

“Beautiful.” Hop murmurs, brushing his thumb around the outer shell.

_Thank you._

He thinks that again _, thank you,_ and finds—yes—there is _much_ to be thankful for. Again. Safety, health, his family, his friends, his city, his home, Galar—

Himself.

The pretty gem in his hand.

Yes, thank you is right.

There is much to be thankful for.


	3. another voice calls out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an investigation begins. a surprise awaits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very lovely reader drew some very lovely art of Hop and Eltanin! I highly recommend you take a look at it [here](https://pappadu.tumblr.com/post/640777460113408001/), because it is absolutely stunning! 🤗

Unsurprisingly, the sky’s little stint over Hammerlocke causes quite the fervor throughout the region of Galar.

Within seconds, social media platforms everywhere erupt with commentary on the occurrence, flooding the internet with a deluge of potential explanations, conspiracy theories, and incensed arguments about why either is highly improbable or idiotic, devolving into personal attacks on one another’s character, that of which have nothing to do with what some are calling, quote, ‘ _giratina’s bitch fit’_.

(It’s Bede. Bede is the one who calls it that. It gets him nasty looks from everyone, especially Hop, but he doesn’t take it back until Raihan threatens to tell Opal he’s been swearing behind her back. He quiets down pretty quick after that.)

While the initial response of local officials and representatives is swift, insistent on the necessity for a proper investigation into the matter, interest dies down relatively quickly, as most things on the internet tend to do. The cosmic event of the century is nothing more than a fleeting thought in the minds of the average Galarian not even a week later, leaving novelty t-shirts and a handful of memes in their wake.

On Hop’s part, there is only a pervading sense of frustration. His excitement over a potential dive into the nature of the unprecedented light show dwindles into immeasurable disappointment and dismay, especially when realizes there’s nothing _to_ investigate.For all the pomp and spectacle, not a single wishing star or wishing piece is left behind afterwards. The few he manages to find are dull and grey and crumble to dust upon contact. The beautiful, glassy shards which rained down upon them meet the same fate, disintegrating before he has a chance at collecting them. All he’s able to note is their shell-like appearance, glossy and clear, resembling the remains of a barrier.

And then there’s the gemstone.

Hop does his best—he really does—but of all the tests, all the analysis and attempted composition breakdowns he conducts, he gets nary a straightforward answer. Everything comes back either null or inconclusive. The only outlier is the Galar Particle meter which, upon passing over the stone, reacts as wildly as it did the night of the shower despite all other activity readings coming up blank.

It’s bizarre. Hop’s no stranger to running into roadblocks with his investigations. It’s fairly common. Scientific progress takes time, the knowledge attained a hard-earned luxury.

This has him fully stumped.

Which is precisely why he decides to seek outside help.

“Not a single result, huh?”

“I’m afraid not,” Lillie’s expression is disconcerted on the other side of his computer screen, oceans away. “I’ve run through all possible entry coordinates, warp points, and dimensional rifts around the general vicinity and beyond. While the recorded energy readings you sent over were significant and concerning, there is no indication of inter-dimensional travel or activity.”

“This isn’t an issue of an Ultra Beast, then.”

“Fortunately no. I did note similarities between the energy signatures, but nothing to suggest they are one and the same. Everything appears to be entirely of this world. Or at the very least, of this plane.”

“Hm,” Hop idly runs a hand over the surface of the stone, vaguely wondering whether the pulsing beneath his fingertips is energy or something else entirely. “I guess that narrows the list down slightly. At least we don’t have to worry about another Nebby or Necrozma wandering around opening Ultra Wormholes all over Galar.”

At the call of their name, a hulking, dark figure peeks over Lillie’s shoulder and waves their bulky claws at Hop. He waves back, smiling. At Lillie’s gentle suggestion, they wander off to play with Nebby outside.

“We should thank our stars for that,” she says.

“Agreed,” Hop glances at the video window beside Lillie’s. “anything on your end, Elaine?”

“No signs of genetic manipulation or inorganic engineering,” She signs to them, Eevee balanced precariously atop her head. Some things never change. “Strange energy, nothing specific or known. I had Blue and Grandpa look everything over too. No dice. Overall, seems like a regular rock. Besides your weird Galar energy.”

_Not weird._

“It’s _not_ weird,” Hop thinks and says aloud, strangely defensive even to his own ears. He usually finds Galar Particles and everything that goes along with it to be a tedious subject matter. It’s an odd stance for him to take abruptly, especially when he’s complained about it endlessly to both his fellow professor friends. “It’s just…different.”

“Weird,” Elaine doubles down playfully.

_Not weird._

“It’s _not_ —“

“I think we can all agree it’s _unique_ ,” Lillie cuts in, ever the peace-keeper. “Sorry about this, Hop. It seems like we weren’t much help.”

“Of course you were,” They took time out of their busy schedules to lend him a hand. That's more than he could have ever asked for. “I mean, we don’t have an exact answer, but now we know what it _isn’t_ , which is more than we knew when we started.”

_Thank you._

“Thank you so much,” Hop tacks on at the thought, because it needs to be said. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble,” Lillie replies with a smile. “I don’t mind. These sorts of things are very interesting to look into, aren’t they?”

“Really?” Hop inclines his head. “I can’t imagine anything being more interesting than traveling between dimensions.”

“Eevee-lutions,” Elaine proposes confidently. “Genetics. A secret dragon-type Eevee evolution is inevitable.”

_Interesting._

“Really interesting,” Hop agrees. “I guess you win this round.”

Elaine accepts her victory with grace and poise.

With his international connections at an equal loss, Hop moves on to his next course of action.He falls back on an infallible resource, sacred and powerful and _true_. The ace up his sleeve. One that’s never lead him astray.

“And it just…landed safely next to you?”

“It was a very fortunate happenstance,” Sonia doesn’t need to know it nearly beaned him on the cranium; that if it weren’t for Leon’s quick reaction time, he would likely be in the hospital. Much as Hop reveres the truth and honesty, he’s learned it isn’t always the best policy in certain instances. “There was some damage to the patio.”

“Raihan’s?”

“The very same.”

“Oh no. I should call him. He’s probably feeling down about it.”

“Leon’s already on the case, but I’m sure he would appreciate your condolences.” 

Sonia doesn’t waste any time busying herself with all the data he’s brought her. Hop is relegated to one of the kitchenette table chairs as she runs over everything by herself. Allowing her to reach her own conclusions is likely to help more than allowing his muddled mind to influence whatever she may or may not observe.

At least he’s in good company.

“How have you been, dear?” The sight of Professor Magnolia calmly pouring him a cup of tea incites a wave of warmth through his very being. “Busy I take it.”

“Not in the ways I expected,” Hop replies. He’s still not done with the yard. It feels like he’ll still be working on it long after he’s finished. “There’s so much clean up and interior decorating involved.”

“It was the same for me,” She tells him, a vague smile on her lips. “Likely worse.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re the best, Professor. At everything.”

“That’s quite the presumptuous statement you’re making, lad.”

“I only make them when warranted.”

“Is that right?” She hums, clearly not believing him. It makes him feel like a child. Not in a bad way, but a child all the same. “What do you make of all this?”

“Of all what?”

She gestures over at Sonia, furiously tapping away at her tablet, mumbling under her breath.

“I’m not sure,” He always feels a little silly sharing his theories with Professor Magnolia, her weighty stare unwavering, attention focused wholly on what he’s saying. It always feels like he’s about to misstep and say something incredibly stupid because she’s got years of experience and knowledge under her belt and Hop is a bumbling hatchling scrambling for the edge of her coattails.

Nervously, unconsciously, his hand comes to rest on the stone in his jacket pocket.

_No._

Right. He knows he shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t be reaching for anyone’s coattails. Hop isn’t Professor Magnolia or Sonia or Oleana. He isn’t Leon or Raihan either.

He’s himself. For better or for worse.

_Better._

“I spoke with Lillie and Elaine,” Hop says, the anxiety curling in his stomach abating slightly. “They confirmed there was no scientific engineering nor inter-dimensional activity of any kind involved. Whatever happened, it was entirely natural and Galarian.”

“And your conclusion?”

Hop measures his words carefully in his head.

_Keep._

_On._

_Good._

“…Professor, you know a lot about Galarian folklore, don’t you?”

“In a relative sense,” She doesn’t say anything else, her gaze expectant.

_Speak._

“What do you know of a creature in Hammerlocke? Something…not a deity but—a being of prominence. I was told by a city local of a creature. That the stars and pieces came from them. Have you ever heard of anything like that ?”

Professor Magnolia observes him over the rim of her glasses.

“Hop,” she says quietly. “have you asked Raihan about this?”

“Of course,” Hop replies. “He told me he hadn’t heard anything like it. That Galar has lots of folklore. That I should look somewhere else for…” He trails off, a thought, unbidden and sudden, striking him.

Raihan, lauded Son and Lord of Hammerlocke, purveyor of all information ancient and historical, on friendly terms with every single resident within the city, _including_ lovely Grace and her family, expert on everything and _anything_ Hammerlockian, told Hop he should look elsewhere for more details.

Raihan, who adores and cherishes his history more than anyone ever could, told him he didn't know a thing. To ask after Spikemuth instead.

...was Spikemuth anywhere old enough to _have_ traditional folklore of that nature?

_Lies._

Magnolia sets her teacup down with a clink.

“I think,” she says with care, tone lacking any particular inflection. “you should speak of this with him again. Perhaps he misunderstood the question. Perhaps he misspoke.”

“Perhaps,” Hop responds dumbly. Why he hadn’t questioned this earlier is unclear. Too much blind faith in the dragon man maybe.

He must have his reasons.

 _Lies_.

“It’s not so black and white,” Hop spouts abruptly. Magnolia blinks in surprise at his sudden outburst.

“Of course not, dear,” She says, eyeing him strangely. “Nothing is.”

“Y-Yeah,” Hop falters, both hands curling around his teacup. What was that about? Who was he directing that statement towards? Himself? “Um, I’ll definitely do that. Ask him again.”

Magnolia nods, gives him another odd look, and drops…whatever that was. Maybe Hop’s more stressed than he previously thought. Yeah, that’s what it is. He’s too high-strung. Maybe he just needs a nap.

Later though. Not now.

Ultimately _,_ Sonia doesn’t get any closer to a conclusion than Hop does, although she’s happy enough with all the data he’s brought over. That’s as good a win in his book. He holds no illusions she won't be pouring over it for the weeks to come, along with the remainders of the patio-killer meteorite he brought along.

“Let’s see about this stone you were mentioning.”

Hop hands it over dutifully, standing by as Sonia assesses its properties, holding it up against the light of the sun, face scrunched up in concentration.

“Pretty,” she smiles. “I've never seen anything like it. And it was inside of…?”

“Yes. It, um, split in half after landing,” Hop avoids Sonia’s inquisitive eyes. “with some—er—help.”

“Help.”

“Yes.”

Sonia gives him that look, the one where she knows exactly what Hop did without him having to say a single word, because she knows him better than he knows himself.

“Right,” she hands it back. “Hold onto that for a sec. I’m going to check where I left my drill.”

“Drill?”

“Sure,” She casts the stone a pitying glance. “It’s a waste and a little extreme but—”

**_NO._ **

“No!” Hop exclaims, clutching it against his chest, fingers firm and secure around it. It pulses with gratitude, but he notices none of this, not in the moment. “You _can’t_.”

“How else are we supposed to find out what it is?”

**_NO. NO. NO. NO. NO._ **

“Not like that. No, Scones. No,” his head is ringing with refusal, intense and sharp and he _can’t_. He **_won’t_**. “I can—I’ll look into it. I’lll find a way and…figure it out myself but—no drill. No.”

Sonia raises her hands up in surrender.

“All right, all right. No drilling, Butterscotch. Promise,” she placates, eyes alit with suspicion and uncertainty. As if to make up for it, her next words are teasing and good-natured. “Getting protective of your projects already, are you? You’re so _cute_.”

Hop laughs. It’s forced and awkward.

Protective. Right.

Later, when he’s on the train back to Hammerlocke, finally free of Professor Magnolia and Sonia’s probing stares and exchanging of secretive looks, he releases a heavy sigh, sinking into his seat.Sonia promised to keep him updated on any future progress. Hop promised to keep her up to date on any new developments, if there are any.All in all, it feels like he’s reached a roadblock.At the very least, he _has_ a lead, one he hadn’t thought to think twice about because he wasn’t aware it could be one in the first place.

Although, whether or not Raihan actually _does_ know anything remains to be seen. He’s not a walking, talking lexicon. Even he doesn’t know everything there is to know about olden times lore, no matter how much Hop childishly likes to believe he does. If it is true, however, then it only amplifies how strange it was for him to misdirect like that. Very out of character. Raihan is forthright with everything he does. Appreciates the straightforward and offers it in turn. It could be that he truly doesn’t know anything about Grace’s story, but that doesn’t seem likely. After all, _he_ was the one who reacted with an odd calm throughout that entire heaven-shattering event, assuring Hop he would get his desired results, behaving as if there was not a single concern to be had while the rest of them flew into a panic.

Raihan is a pillar of strength, of rationality and wisdom and self-control, but to be so sure—so _positive—_ in the face of an occurrence that managed to rattle even Leon into wanting to take cover…

Maybe he really doesn’t know anything. Maybe he does. All that’s left to do is ask again, and try to reason out why he would resort to secrecy.

When he makes it back to Hammerlocke, it’s with a semblance of a game plan.Vague and weak and with the likely necessitation of Leon’s help, but a game plan nonetheless.

Hop turns onto the familiar cobblestone road and offers greetings to the shopkeepers and residents he comes across, heralding their own pieces of conversation and inquiries at him ranging from practical and odd, to insistent he declare their theories about the apparent end-times inevitable. He's reassuring little Madeline from down the road that no scary monsters will be making an appearance from the sky today, tomorrow or any of the following days as long as the big bad Charizard's around when he spots a small group gathered in front of his workplace. Concerned, he makes haste towards it, arriving on the tail-end of a conversation.

“—ou’re awfully suspicious sir. I think we should report you to the authorities.”

“S’that right?”

“Yeah! How do we know that you’re not here to—to—to _break in_ and cause a _ruckus_? Professor’s got tons of expensive and cool stuff in there! If you try to steal anything, we’re gonna kick your—“

“Nobody will be kicking anyone’s _anything_ ,” Hop declares, startling the pair of children defending his honor. “What on Earth is going on here?”

“Prof!” Marvin exclaims, running over to grasp his arm. “This guy was tryin’ to break in! Don’t worry though, we stopped him. We were gonna show him a bad time just for you!”

“That’s not true!” Hannah exclaims. “It’s just—we heard you were out today and wanted to help keep an eye on everything. Eltanin said he didn’t mind us keeping guard outside so that’s what we were doing,” She rushes to hide behind Hop, peering at the supposed intruder nervously. “We didn’t recognize him, so we were gonna teach him a lesson.”

“Not of the violent variety, I hope. He’s a ranger, you two. He’s doing his patrols. Nothing suspicious and nothing worth teaching him a so-called lesson over.”

“I dunno,” Marvin squints. "He was givin’ your flowers shifty eyes.”

“The highest form of flattery. Now, run along. Everything is all right. Unless you had questions for me?”

“I need more pokéballs!”

“And I need another journal!”

Hop retrieves both, is thanked, and watches both children run off in opposite directions, their worries forgotten. He should really have a conversation with them about not roughing up people they don't recognize for the sake of it.

“Nice save, man. Thought I was about to get jumped by toddlers.”

Hop tenses up, somehow having forgotten the entire reason for the squabble. He turns, woodenly, nerves acting up again because he’s recalling his last interaction with the green green-eyed ranger and desperately wishes the ground would swallow him whole for it.

It does not.

Hop must speak.

“U-Uh, yes, well, um, I apologize. They mean well. N- _Not_ about the threats of violence. Not those. Surely. I’m not, ah, quite sure where they got the idea they needed to assault you upon sight, but I’m sure they’re very, very sorry for the indiscretion. I’ll be sure to properly chastise them for it.”

“Ain’t nothing, dude,” Victor shrugs, appearing more amused than anything. He adjusts the beret on his head, the same shiny Aegislash insignia on Sophie's pinned onto his. “Dealt with a lot worse than kids wanting to beat the shit out of me.”

“I’m very sorry about that.”

Victor smiles. Goodness, and what a smile it is. Hop’s face warms at the mere sight of it.

“That’s real kind of you, Professor, but I don’t need condolences. ‘sides, I’m thinking it has less to do with me and more to do with you.”

“Oh?”

“My rounds. I’ve spoken to plenty of folks, tryin’ to get a feel for everything. Get their thoughts on the current state of affairs. Somehow, _you_ always come up. Thought Sophie was exaggerating. Guess not, if you’ve got the kids wanting to flay me in your honor.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Forget it. I’m runnin’ my mouth.”

“Oh,” Hop nods dumbly. Scrambling for a semblance of the poise he once assumed he held and has rather abruptly found himself lacking, he says, “Marvin mentioned you side-eyeing my flowers?”

Victor raises an eyebrow.

“Think I’m gonna take off with them, do ya?”

“That isn’t what I was suggesting,” Hop replies, horrified. Victor only laughs.

“I’m messin' with you, Professor,” he casts a thoughtful look over the flowers. “What? Cattleya and Gracidea? Hard to come by, aren’t they?”

“It’s been a trying ordeal,” Hop admits. The entire process isn’t anything he wants to dwell on, the work involved harrowing and stressful on account of both's stringent needs and the region’s inability to care for them naturally. “Hammerlocke’s weather isn’t conducive to their growth. I’ve tried my best to cultivate them, with mixed results.”

“If this is your take on mixed results, your best must be godly,” Victor prods at one of the pink petals. “Gracidea are finicky as all hell.”

“Do you like flowers?” Hop cringes at his own question. Arceus, he sounds like a _grade-schooler_. What will he do next, ask after Victor’s card collection? Request to trade his G-Max Charizard for his V-Max Blastoise? “That is, I mean—“

“Not really,” Victor is not at all perturbed by his elementary inquiry. “Part of the job, mostly. Training. Gotta know the difference between a weed and poisonous ivy. It’s useful in the wild.”

“I see.”

“Suits you though.”

“Do they?”

“Sure,” He doesn’t elaborate further on that statement. “To answer your question, it’s not really me who’s interested in ‘em.”

Hop doesn’t understand his words initially, struck with confusion, but then Victor shifts to the side and there is rustling beneath verdant Gracidea leaves and pointed ears and wings and a pair of big, expressive eyes staring straight into his soul.

“My goodness!” Hop cries, vaguely aware he’s startled Victor but too charmed by the small being gazing upon him, ears and claws and tiny feet a bright orange, their fur and wings the color of soft sand, their eyes as blue as Victor's are green. “I’m so sorry for not noticing you earlier. How terribly rude of me.”

The Pokémon— _what are they he cannot recall_ —tilts their head and blinks.

“I’m afraid you’ve taken me by surprise,” he continues. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen or read about anyone quite like you. If I had, please believe I would not be floundering as I am now. Forgive my ignorance.”

“Looks like you’ve stumped the Pokémon Professor himself, Cinder,” Hop’s initial reaction is to take offense, to be defensive. When he glances at Victor, however, he observes only good cheer, a satisfied upturn to his lips, and a pleased twinkle in those endlessly emerald eyes. His heart stutters at the sight.

“Victini,” He finally elucidates to Hop, allowing her— _Cinder_ —to climb up his arm and settle upon the tip of his outstretched hand. “Don’t blame you for not knowing. She’s not common, not really. From what I’ve been told, she’s the only one.”

“Victini,” Hop tries the name out slowly, unable to stop the giddy smile from spreading across his face when Cinder shakes his hand, chittering happily in greeting, her wings fluttering in excitement. “Pardon me, Cinder. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m very happy you like my flowers. Feel free to stop by whenever you’d like to see them. I have a few inside, and should have even more in the coming weeks. It would be my pleasure to have you over for tea. Perhaps some snacks as well. Do you have any favorites?”

Cinder's eyes light up, bright like the sun and moon. She squeaks, wings flapping behind her happily as she dances through the air and mimes out her response.

“Macarons?” Hop laughs when she smiles even brighter at his understanding. “Brilliant. I’ll make sure to have some when next you visit. How does that sound?”

Cinder the Victini is burning bright like a star at this point, glowing a warm, orange-red color, embers enveloping her ears, claws and wings. Hop can barely hold himself back from a delighted squee of his own. She’s _adorable_.

“What am I, yesterday’s news?”

“O-Oh!” Hop scrambles to set things to rights when he realizes the rather two-sided conversation he's been having. “Of course, you’re invited as well. If you’d like.”

“A pity invite? As her plus-one? I’m really making it out here,” Upon noticing Hop’s troubled stammering, he snorts, an amused smile gracing his lips. “Relax, Professor. I’m joking. Have her over whenever you like. You Galarians have teatime on the daily, don’t you? Isn’t that a thing here?”

“Dependent on the individual.”

“Do _you_?”

“Certainly,” Teatime is the best part of the day. Hop would be remiss not to indulge. “Every afternoon.”

“You’ve got a permanent visitor then.”

“Does that extend to you?” Hop blurts out before he can think better of it. Such _boldness_ from the chap who asks riveting questions like ‘ _do you like flowers_.’ He is a _fool_. The green green eyed ranger deserves better company than him.

“I fucking hate tea,” Victor relays bluntly, eliciting an overwhelming wave of embarrassment and shame within Hop’s self for the split-second it takes him to also add, “consider some coffee, and I’m all yours.”

“I have that,” Hop quickly assures him, giddy and pleased. Company! He likes having company! Green green eyed-company sounds lovely! “Coffee. A lot. In the cupboards. We have coffee. Yes.”

“Guess you’ll be seeing me around,” Victor winks and Hop feels very queasy and very satisfied all at the same time. “Professor.”

“Yes?”

“I have a question.”

“Ah,” Hop perks up, eager and excited. He likes answering questions. That Victor already feels comfortable asking speaks well for the future of their relationship. “By all means. I will answer to the best of my ability.”

“The sky, the evening of the day we first met, what was that about?” Victor leaves no room for preamble or side-tracking, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. “Is that normal here?”

“Not at all,” to think, the first scientific question he asks is one Hop has no proper answer for. What rotten fortune. “I was as surprised as you were, I imagine. As of the moment, I’m still looking into it myself.”

“Huh,” Victor looks away, a frown marring his features. The vague thought that he looks quite fetching like that plops into Hop's head, but then Victor’s looking at him again, all severe and serious, leaving no room for fanciful thought. “Sophie told me a bit about it. Wishing stars and pieces n’all that. She said people usually grab them up, but this time around, there wasn’t anything to grab. Faded to dust. Weird, isn’t it?”

“I thought the same.”

“And that light show? That off too?”

“Yes. Usually it simply resembles a meteor shower. There is no darkening of the sky or those patterns or anything. What happened then was not typical.”

“Anything else out of the ordinary?”

Hop hesitates on his answer. There _is_ the matter of Arthur and everyone else behaving oddly. He kept that piece of information to himself when speaking to his colleagues, intent on investigating the matter personally rather than risk startling or skewing their perceptions. He trusts their judgement, doesn’t think Sonia, Professor Magnolia, Lillie or Elaine the kind of people to immediately resort to stigmatizing an entire typing like that.

It’s too close to his heart, is all. If anyone is to investigate, that it should be him is not under discussion.

Not to mention the stone.

His hand curls around it in his pocket, almost protectively. It pulses. Hop understands that cannot be typical rock behavior.

“Nothing I can confirm,” He answers vaguely, only slightly unnerved by the intensity of Victor’s attention. “As I said, I’m still…it’s a work in progress.”

“…gotcha,” Victor settles on after a brief, contemplative silence. “I’ll keep an eye and ear open for anything new. Ask around and see what I can find. I'll let you know if there’s anything else to consider.”

_Friend._

Hop jolts.

“I-I would greatly appreciate that,” he replies, shakily, because he _heard_ that. He was paying attention this time and he _heard_ it. “I will do the same.”

Victor hums, apparently satisfied for the moment. He calls for Cinder and she settles herself upon his shoulder, offering Hop a friendly goodbye wave.

“Be seein’ ya, Professor. Take care, all right?”

“Likewise. Be safe.”

Victor playfully salutes him and begins to walk away. Hop watches him, tilting his head when he stops a few paces short.

“Professor.”

“Yes?”

“Not that I wasn’t a fan of your last look but,” Victor glances over his shoulder, his grin the perfect amount of toothy and sharp to send a tingle down Hop’s spine. “today’s is real nice. Didn’t think I had a thing for suspenders.”

With that, he disappears for good this time, leaving Hop to teeter back into the lab, lost and confused and boiling over on the inside.

Eltanin looks up at his entrance, hovering over the desk chair, one claw on the computer mouse. When Hop left he was rearranging the files on his desktop. Apparently, his organization system leaves much to be desired. Looks like he’s done, the ongoing game of Solitaire on the screen providing the answer to that question.

“Ranger,” Hop relays quietly. “we were discussing what happened.”

While Eltanin’s eyes narrow with the shadow of the unasked, he lets the matter rest, vacating the chair to busy himself with other secretarial work. Hop stops him.

“I need your help with something,” The stone glistens against the pristine, stainless steel countertops when he sets it down. “Please? It shouldn’t take long.”

Eltanin dutifully agrees to lend his aid. Altais joins as well, climbing the length of his trousers to settle beside the stone, looking on curiously.

Hop takes a deep breath.

“Try talking to them,” Eltanin’s judging expression remains placid. He’s trying to hide his incredulousness. An understandable reaction. Hop doesn’t often go around demanding his partners communicate with inanimate objects. This time is different. The words ringing in his head this entire time, faint and almost nonexistent, are no product of his imagination nor of his self. The words uttered upon the meteorite’s abrupt breach into their atmosphere were not either. He is sure. “Please. I have a theory.”

Eltanin agrees without further fuss. He is known to humor Hop’s occasional and frequent requests, readily available in the pursuit of his daily fascinations. He stares into the depths of the cosmic swirls, glittering and reflecting the laboratory’s light. His scarlet eyes tinge a faint, wispy blue, their concentration unperturbed by the distant ticking of the antique Rookidee clock hanging on the farther wall.

A moment passes. Eltanin grimaces, ears twitching back and forth, wings doing the same, just as they did the day of the shower. Swiftly and without additional hesitation, Hop takes the stone and presses it against his claw and, like finding the appropriate station on a radio after endlessly fiddling with its dials, everything becomes crystal clear.

_How curious! And you say this fellow is your mother? I thought as much. He certainly has the air of one._

“Mother?” Hop says, startling Eltanin into snapping his head in his direction. “You told them that. You heard them— _hear_ them?”

Eltanin nods.

Within the confines of his fingers, the stone pulses more violently than it ever has.

_Oh? Has he finally heard my call in full? Brilliant! Simply brilliant. The power of our kind is never to be underestimated, is it, young Eltanin?_

Eltanin inclines his head in agreement, coming across as exceptionally smug.

_Human, mother of the current Prince of Hammerlocke, may I request your ear for a moment or three? There is much to speak of, you see, and I would rather not waste the opportunity now that I have your full attention. How tiring it was becoming, only communicating the barest minimum of words until now._

“Yes, of course. Certainly,” Hop walks over to the sofa and sits, Eltanin and Altais joining him on either side. “I…would you mind waiting a while longer? This is a lot to process.”

_Certainly! Draconis themselves knows it was a trial simply returning here. Take all the time you need. I am very patient._

“You are very kind as well. Thank you,” Hop replies graciously, before he promptly passes out.


	4. no matter how far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an explanation leads to a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's very dialogue heavy. Extended writing in Italics is all magical stone talk.  
> If there's a better way to format those sections so the story flows better, feel free to let me know!

Passing out in front of one’s children does not a good idea make.

Hop understands this very well, for when he finally regains consciousness, he finds his dearest Eltanin weeping into his torso. Or rather he would be, if he weren’t floating centimeters above Hop so as to not interfere with his body’s circulation of blood and oxygen.

Such a considerate boy.

Otherwise, the fanfare of his reawakening passes uneventfully. Hop reassures Eltanin he is fine with a hug and accepts the glass of water Altais fetches for him with many thanks. He gulps it down and plays back his memories of what happened prior to blacking out for—Hop checks— approximately thirty minutes.

Rock. Voice. Theory. Talking.

Right.

“I think we should try this again,” he says, tugging his loosened tie off to fold and set onto the coffee table. This time, there would be no collapsing. The initial shock is out of his system, leaving behind only clarity of mind and an iron-clad determination. “Eltanin, if you will.”

_My, my. I did not mean to frighten you in such a visceral manner. My apologies, human. I will be more tactful in the future._

“No, forgive me. I wasn’t expecting anything like this,” Hop responds, hand clasping one side of the stone, Eltanin’s claw on the other. “It isn’t everyday gems speak. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

 _Not at all_. _Let us agree to let the past lie and move on to more pressing matters._

“Of course. Firstly, I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Hop. As you’ve learned, this is Eltanin, and the lovely lady at my side is Altais. We are currently in my laboratory. It serves as my workplace. To clarify, the voice I’ve been hearing in my head, that’s been you this entire time hasn’t it?”

 _Indeed._ _I_ _have_ _been attempting to communicate with you since my arrival, to no avail. Normally this would be no difficult task. The unfortunate fact of the matter is, I am very weak and lacking in many of my standard capabilities. Awakening took much out of my proverbial system; traveling here, what little was left._

“And you are able to communicate right now because…?”

_Eltanin is lending me his strength._

“And this place you traveled from, can you tell me where it is?”

_The thermosphere, I believe. Or perhaps the mesosphere? I’m not quite sure._

Goodness. They speak of emerging from the atmosphere as if it were casual fact and not a monumental breakthrough in everything Hop knows and understands. There are few Pokémon capable of surviving at those extreme levels of elevation, never mind human beings without the appropriate equipment.

Which begs the question—

“Forgive my bluntness but you are…what precisely are you? A stone hardly seems the correct assignation.”

_Very clever, human. You are correct. This is not a stone at all. It is my core._

“Your core?”

_The essence of my being. My heart, I suppose, if we are to speak in the equivalencies of man._

“And you are…?”

_I am many things. However, if we must resort to humanity’s insistence on labeling any and all manner of creature, I suppose a so-called ‘Pokémon’ would be the appropriate description. Percival often refers to me as such. I think it a rather foolish name._

Hop nods along, doing his best to digest everything being thrown his way. It’s difficult and confusing and his head spins round and round with a multitude of different questions and theories. It’s almost too much information to take in.

“I—All right, hold on a moment,” He takes a deep breath. Time to catalogue what he knows and make a few assertions. “Let’s start from the beginning. Feel free to correct me at any point if I’m mistaken. You are, in human terms, a Pokémon. You were somewhere within the thermosphere and mesosphere, awoke, and used whatever remaining energy reserves you had to travel back to Earth.”

_Correct._

“What happened to the sky was not coincidental. That was you. The wishing pieces and wishing stars I— _we_ —saw.”

_I suppose._

“And this energy you utilized came in the form of wishing stars and pieces. That’s why they crumbled. They were drained.”

 _I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean by wishing pieces and stars._ _If you are referring to what remained of my scales, yes, they are what propelled me._

“Your scales.”

 _Yes_.

Hop quickly scrambles to his desk, snatches the single wishing star sample he received as a farewell gift from Sonia and returns.

“This,” he presents the case. “this is what I mean.”

_…ah, you are holding something. My apologies, but my vision is not what it usually is in this form. Would it be too much trouble to provide a description?_

Hop does as they ask.

_Aha! Yes! It seems you’ve found one! How fortunate! It’s rather beautiful, is it not? Percival tells me I shouldn’t be vain, but there is no vanity in admitting the obvious is there?_

This is beyond what Hop was expecting. Part of him almost believes it all to be an absurd dream brought on by his own desperation to reach a satisfying conclusion. _Scales_ , they say. Not pieces or stars. _Scales_.

Like a dragon.

“You were speaking to them,” Hop says, eyes lighting up with understanding. “that day, my family—they were all tense. They kept looking to the sky; in the direction you ultimately came from. The way you spoke to Eltanin, did you do the same with them?”

_Precisely! A clever human you are indeed, Hop. Unfortunately,I could hardly muster a word from the strain of reentry. I doubt they understood me. Someone was especially displeased by my incoherence. They told me to ‘shut my gob and go away.’ Accused me of frightening their den-mates._

Either Mordred or Arthur, Hop gathers. “They’re very protective.”

_An admirable trait. I cannot say I would have reacted differently._

“And you—do you know where you are?”

_Clever human, you ask a silly question. The Kingdom of Hammerlocke, is it not? My brief slumber may have left me disoriented, my eyes unseeing, but my core can sense where home lies and it is here._

“Hammerlocke is your home?”

_Yes. Where else would it be?_

“…pardon me for asking this late into conversation, but do you have a name? Something I may call you?”

 _I do. It is—_ they growl out a series of guttural noises, strangely reminiscent of what Arthur sounds like when a fireball gets lodged in his throat— _Percival tells me it’s difficult for humans to enunciate. He calls me Andy instead. After the chained princess of the sky, he says. I quite like it._

“Andy, then,” Hop applies his entire focus onto his next question, because it’s the reason for everything they’ve discussed thus far. “Why were you sleeping in the sky?”

The connection or telepathic link or Eltanin’s psychic powers or whatever it is grows staticky for a few moments, as if the signal is fraying and growing distant, dropping out and then returning.

_Never mind that for now, human. I must request a favor from you._

Is Hop detecting a hint of defensiveness in their tone? A brusque sidestepping? He can’t be sure. He files the reaction away, not bringing any attention to it.

“What do you need?” He asks instead.

_Space. I am nowhere near close to recovering my full strength. At the very least, I am confident in my ability to maintain a corporeal form. It will allow me to better communicate._

“Is there anything you need for that? Like, um, more power? Like your scales?”

_Unnecessary. They belong to me no longer. Of the Earth they were borne and of the Earth they shall remain. No, Eltanin has provided an ample supply of energy, adding onto what little I have recuperated through my rest thus far. I simply require room. While your touch does bring me comfort, your hand is hardly the place to unfurl myself._

“And you’re not, y’know, planning on planet-wide annihilation, are you?” Hop asks with a respectable amount of trepidation. He wants to trust the odd, not-stone being so earnestly requesting his aid. He really does. But Hop has seen plenty of movies where a naive human agrees to terms far beyond their understanding and found himself unable to sleep at night thinking about the implications of their mistakes and his own likely mishandling of such a grave situation.

He blames his prejudice on Leon. Leon loves scary movies and it’s just a vice Hop is expected to live with; to deal with.

_That sounds horrid. Not to mention tiring. No, I only wish to seek out Percival. He is undoubtedly awaiting my return. I am loathe to keep him waiting. Remaining in this form is non-conducive to travel and an unneeded burden upon your shoulders._

“I haven’t minded.”

_Neither have I, and yet, my manners oblige me otherwise. If you will?_

Hop shares a very long look with Eltanin. He inclines his head, acquiescing to the request. A look at Altais brings the same response, her curiosity far surpassing any reservations she may or may not have over the current circumstances.

“Very well,” if it ends badly, Hop will shoulder the blame and take full responsibility. He doesn’t think it will. Pokémon are many things. Rampant ravagers of the universe they are _not_. Not even Andy, who’s been asleep in space and nearly busted his head open with the force of her arrival. They have their spats and feuds and claim their territories viciously, but they share nothing in common with humanity’s inclination towards cruelty and warfare.

Call it a foolish hunch, call it an idiotic error in judgement, Hop trusts in Andy’s words. Pokémon have never led him astray. He doubts that will ever change.

“Where should I place you?” He asks, awkwardly holding Andy aloft. “Should we do this outside?”

_Any clear surface shall be sufficient. Worry not for the premises. Tell me, human. I am feeling generous. Have you any preferences in appearance? I have gathered you hold a fondness for the soft and delicate._

“…wait, have you been reading my mind?” Hop inquires, a nerve-rattling discomfort rolling down his spine. “Please tell me you haven’t.”

 _I have not,_ Andy sounds utterly baffled by the the accusation, _it is conjecture based on your character. Worry not for your privacy. The human mind is an intangible mess of complications and flawed synapses. I hold little interest in attempting to interpret it._

“Oh. Well, I’ll defer to _your_ preference. Don’t feel obligated to look any particular way on my account.”

_Soft and delicate it is._

“But I said—“

_You lost consciousness at the mere sound of my voice. Pardon my skepticism._

Eltanin and Altais don’t even bother with trying to contain their snickers at the speed with which Hop’s face reddens in embarrassment. So much for being his considerate and sweet children.

Without further ado, Hop sets Andy onto the coffee table. He, Eltanin, and Altais watch expectantly, awaiting a sign to accompany the loss of her speech.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, the stone begins to glow, tendrils of magenta light pulsing around it at a measured rate. A white wisp forms at the center, glowing and glowing and glowing until a soft pink tendril erupts from it, followed by more and more. They wrap around one another, darkening to a near pitch black color, taking the shape of an oddly lumpy ball of…mass maybe?

Two sharp appendages burst from the top, another two from farther center, and a single one at the very back. There is another blinding burst of light that has Hop shielding his eyes until it fades to nothing, leaving the laboratory in pin-drop silence.

When Hop looks back, the gemstone is no more, replaced by a very corporeal Andy appearing not at all like he expected, waves of—anti-matter?—space energy?—pooling below her and onto the coffee table.

 _What do you think,_ she inquires, flourishing one of the four petite hooves she suddenly possesses, _far from horrific, yes?_

“You’re adorable,” Hop blurts out, unable to speak anything but the honest truth. “Soft and delicate translates to Wooloo?”

 _I refer your question to your own self. This is based off my conjectures on your own preconceptions and…well…I have always been rather fond of their kind. I cannot say I mind this state of being. My core has settled rather comfortably as well,_ she prods at her chest, where a faint, ebbing light is steadily buoyed within what definitely isn’t the average wool coat. Space energy maybe?

Without warning, she leaps onto to the floor, pacing back and forth until she is satisfied with her range of mobility.

_Brilliant. This will do nicely. Thank you greatly, Hop. Your hospitality has been exemplary. I will be sure to have you presented with a position befitting of your nobility. The court alchemist perhaps? A viceroy? I’ve heard the Southernlands are in need of steady-handed leadership. My word carries much weight in the kingdom, you see. As does Percival’s, who is sure to agree with my assessment of your character. You will not lack in anything, my new friend. Not at all. For now, I must bid you farewell._

“I—Hold on a minute!” Hop quickly calls out as Andy scrambles towards the door, the way she eyes the laboratory equipment in apparent awe and confusion adding onto the patchwork of facts slowly sewing themselves together at the back of his mind.

He’s got a theory regarding Andy’s apparent whereabouts, one that has his stomach coiling in discomfort not so much for himself, but for her. He hopes it does not amount to anything, that he’s _wrong_ , but her prior words have left him with no other choice but to fear the obvious explanation.

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to travel by yourself,” he says, grimacing at the offended, deadpan gaze Andy directs his way. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

 _I appreciate your gallantry and kindness, Hop. There is no cause for concern. I am acquainted with the capital better than anyon_ e _can ever hope to be. This should come as no surprise to you, nor have prompted your unneeded suggestion._

“But…“ Hop quickly scrambles for a decent explanation, one that will mollify Andy’s indignation. “…it’s just…I’m worried about your health. You’ve only just woken up, haven’t you? I don’t doubt your skill with navigating the city, but for my own sake, would you mind if I tagged along?”

 _It isn’t that I mind. I simply find it wholly unnecessary,_ she sighs _, very well. Accompany me if you wish. I will advise, however, the gates will be as far as you go. His Highness and Greatest of Majesties has been rather insistent on security measures as of late._

Andy rolls her eyes at this, sheer antipathy and distaste dripping from her words. Hop tucks yet another mental note away for later.

With that decided, Hop locks the laboratory up for the day and they all head out. It feels wrong and irresponsible to take off like this, especially when he’s only just returned, but if what he’s thinking is anywhere close to being correct, he highly doubts they’ll be returning later.

Despite their Wooloo form, Andy’s steps lack any, if not all, the inherent bouncy charm that usually entails. They walk with a firm assuredness and presence despite their small stature and adorableness. The dichotomy is somewhat odd, if not humorous, though Hop refrains from commenting on it. He has a feeling they wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment.

_She. And indeed. I do not. I am the fearsome guardian of these lands. It would do you well to remember that._

“I thought you said you weren’t reading my mind?”

_I am not. Your thoughts are very loud. And if I may offer another piece of advice, please treat our conversations with discretion. Percival says it is unwise to share my abilities with others. I have thus far heeded his advice with an abundance of care. You are the only exception and it is only through necessity. No offense meant._

“None taken. And I wouldn’t worry about that. Everyone kind of expects it from me. Talking to Pokémon, I mean.”

_They do not think you mad?_

“Not at all. They encourage it,” Hop says as they pass by the Pokémon Center, where a group of teens are loitering around for a chin-wag.

“Hullo Prof!” one of them calls out, a young man by the name of Charles. Or Charlie, as he prefers to be called. The former is too stuffy according to him. “Headin’ home already? Bit early, innit?”

“I’m not feeling well,” Hop replies wryly. “I’ll be sure to bring in my doctor’s note tomorrow for peer review.”

The group snickers. Hop’s learned they appreciate that sort of humor. Caustic sarcasm and bite. Bede would get along with them. Or maybe not. He’s not sure who would survive that exchange alive.

“Whatcha got here, Prof?” Another of the teens, Shirley, asks. She’s a punky girl who’s style reminds him a lot of Marnie’s. All studs and chains and black layered on black. Her hair’s a mess of different colors. Hop likes it. Reminds him of a Ho-oh in the best of ways. “A Wooloo?”

“She is.”

She frowns, scrutinizing Andy’s appearance. Andy stares back steadily, unflinching. “Ain’t the kind I’ve ever seen.”

“Genetic mutation,” Hop explains away, thinking quick on his feet. He should have thought ahead for this. It’s not exactly everyday a galaxy colored Wooloo who’s probably actually an alien comes knocking on Hammerlocke’s door. “The horns and wings are a cosplay thing. She saw them at the store and had to have them. You know how my lot are.”

“Do I ever,” Shirley quirks an amused eyebrow in Eltanin’s direction. “Guess Big Blue’s got more competition now. Ain’t just Mordred anymore.”

Eltanin scoffs at the implication. Altais rolls her eyes from atop his back, reassuring him with a pat to the neck.

 _You handled that well_ , Andy tells him as they walk away, _they were none the wiser._

“Reckon they trust me,” Which makes him feel all the more crummy for lying to the very people who deserve and expect the truth from him. The problem is, Hop truly has no idea how to handle this. It’s far more believable that he happened to stumble upon a mutated Wooloo than to painstakingly explain how a random space rock fell from the sky and started talking to him after taking a nap.

Hop’s known for getting himself into ridiculous situations, known for stumbling upon odd scenarios and and finding even odder solutions to them. Reality right now is far out of those bounds, even for him.

Then again, maybe _that’s_ the more reliable story. Not like anyone around Hammerlocke bothers with being shocked by anything he says anymore when they know the unexpected is the only rational explanation.

_I did not recognize that building._

Hop snaps his focus back to Andy. Her steps have faltered somewhat, the anxiety she’s attempting to keep at bay notable in the way her gaze darts up and down the street, lingering on nothing and everything all at once.

“How so?” Hop questions carefully. His theory is growing more and more plausible by the minute. In the interest of not startling Andy, he keeps it to himself.

_I am confident in my memory. Percival says my mind is keener than that of a dozen strategists combined and yet…I clearly recall the location of the blacksmith to have been where those children were. You know, Hammerlocke steel and silver is world-renown, our weaponry first-rate. The castle has its own weapons master, of course, but the majority of knights, squires, and traveling mercenaries choose to utilize the blacksmith’s services instead. Percival is no exception. He refuses to have his sword and shield serviced elsewhere. Granted, he has ulterior motives._

“Does he?” She’s rambling, Hop notes. He has a feeling it’s more for her sake than his.

Andy’s uncertainty levels out minutely, amusement breaking through the cloudiness of her mood.

_The blacksmith. She is a woman of abundant wit and beauty. He is a fool for her. I have told him time and again to ask for her hand. He tells me it is not so simple. Perhaps it is not. Nevertheless, I fear he is wasting precious time._

“Affection is a complicated matter for us humans,” Hop explains. Not that he knows much about it aside from the familial, platonic sort. He adores his family more than words could ever express. The romantic side of things? All he’s sure of is there’s tons of existential angst, baggage and suffering associated with it. His parents were a shining example of that. “There’s always a lot to think about. All the little details.”

_How daunting. Admittedly, I have seen similar behavior in that of my own kin. Perhaps the humans are influencing us for the worse. A pity that is. Everything was much simpler when we perched upon the stars and grazed the galaxies. Or so I’ve been told._

“Pardon. When you _what_?”

_When we fell to Earth. My predecessor often regaled me with such stories. Our dominion once extended beyond the universes. Unfortunately, many fell during the Great Nova, deciding to inhabit the Earth instead._

Andy turns solemn.

_He spoke of many stories like that. He told me I mustn’t forget. It is my duty to pass those same stories down to my successor. I understand my role. That is why I remember._

Hop glances at his other two companions. Eltanin shrugs in his usual Eltanin-y way. Altais looks thoughtful.

There are a million and one questions Hop wants to ask, _would_ ask, were it appropriate.

Andy’s slow, downtrodden trot tells him it is not.

He lets the conversation rest.

When they reach the castle’s drawbridge, Andy’s nerves have piqued once again.

_The sentry is absent. The bridge is lowered. That is strange. His Royalest of Majesties would never allow this._

Andy barrels forward, Hop following closely behind, watching closely as she takes in the lobby, eyes scanning every nook and cranny with a manic desperation.

“Heya, big guy and kids,” Camilla greets him from the reception counter. She glances at Andy, lips quirking. “New teammate?”

“Something like that,” Hop grimaces, following Andy’s every movement as she sniffs and pokes and prods anything she can get her hooves on. She ignores the Pokémon freely roaming the premises, eyeing her with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and deference. “Are Leon and Raihan in?”

“Meeting in the conference room,” she provides as Andy kicks at the elevator doors. “Should be over soon. Emergency?”

“The potential for one,” Hop starts when Andy takes off down the hall towards the main arena stage. “I’ll explain later. Excuse me.”

And oh _boy_ , will he have a lot to explain. Like a loose fabric strand on a worn sweater, Hop feels himself taking that first mindless tug at something that will unravel into more than he could have ever imagined.

It is because of this that when he arrives at the pitch and finds Andy leaping around, confused and lost, the vestiges of panic finally settling upon her demonstrably small form as she circles the field, confounded by the familiar and foreign, he is certain there will be much groundwork to cover. Something is seriously amiss, her understanding of what’s happening and his own at a crossroads.

Andy’s voice is a whisper and a boom against his temples, reverberating through his head. It frays and trembles, her fear a stake in Hop’s heart.

 _Human—Hop—this is not right. Not right at all. This is the throne room and yet it is not. I thought your laboratory odd, your garb and mannerisms as well, and the thought persists beyond its walls. These contraptions I do not recognize, the people I do not recall, nor the buildings. This is my home and yet it is not and_ **_Percival_ ** _—_

Her voice trembles. Even in his mind, Hop can recognize the despair of realization, the agony of displacement, the fight to keep reality at bay, if only for a while longer.

 **_Percival_ ** _. I cannot sense him. Our bond remains and yet he is absent. He is not here. Where is he? Hop, please, tell me what is happening._

Hop takes a very deep, calming breath.

All the pieces are clicking into place, the bigger picture coming together, tragically, in his mind. He was not expecting the series of events proceeding those accursed wishing star shower readings to evolve into this.

It doesn’t matter. Hop takes the reins. He needs to. _Wants_ to. He has a feeling Andy will need all the support she can get, and he’s never been one to turn a blind eye to the suffering of others, much less Pokémon.

“Andy, what do you recall before falling asleep in the sky?”

She tenses up.

_That is of no concern to you._

_S_ he practically spits it out, growling like she’s cornered. Another reaction to take note of.

“Allow me to rephrase my question,” Hop tries again. "Do you recall the date prior to your sleep?”

_Of course I do. We were coming upon the end of the third lunar cycle. We celebrated. Percival led in prayer._

She’s using cycles. Hop converts and calculates the passage of time in his head, wincing at the tally. As final a nail in the coffin as any.

“Andy,” he begins, softly, gently. “earlier, you mentioned your slumber was brief. How long do you believe it’s been?”

_What? It couldn’t have been more than a day. A week? Perhaps a month at maximum? The details weren’t made extraordinarily clear to me—it all happened so quickly and—_

Her eyes bore into Hop’s own, rimmed red and white and black all at once. A tidal wave of universal power churns within them, stormy and violent and destructive. Hop doesn’t falter in their path.

_Tell me, human. What has happened?_

Her voice booms in his head, loudly. Like a cry. Like a wail. It’s sadness. It’s sorrow. It’s unquantifiable uncertainty and _fear fear fear._

Hop is stoic, calm and determined in the face of her demands. It’s the least she deserves.

“I’m sorry, Andy, but the end of the third lunar cycle was roughly three-thousand years ago."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _give us wooloo_ , the readers request  
>  _okay but what if space alien dragon wooloo_ , i whisper, unabashed and unashamed of my creative decisions  
> it's like a monkey's paw everyone 😂


	5. complicated feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> information shared is a companion earned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: very mild allusions to depression on Raihan's part

“Thank you so much for your help, Professor. Next month, same time, same day?”

“Of course. Should you have any concerns, feel free to call or visit again. I’m always available.”

“For coffee maybe?”

“I’m flattered, but you may want to run that by your physician. You know they want you limiting your caffeine intake. It’s not healthy.”

“Ah, _phooey_ ,” Phillip waves his cane around menacingly, face pinching to the point where his thick moustache and eyebrows obscure his features entirely. “Who cares what that brat thinks? Seventy-five years of living my life for myself just to have some no-good young'un telling me what they think is best for me? Nonsense! I’ll drink and eat and do whatever I want!”

“I’m not sure about that. Perhaps tea would be best. Decaffeinated.”

“...perhaps,” Phillip relents, idly patting his Zweilous on the heads when they nudge his leg to calm him. “Tea sounds lovely. Next week?”

“It’s a date.”

Hop watches Phillip’s small, hunched form waddle down the street, his beloved Zweilous ambling easily at his side. A boisterous visitor. A lovely one nonetheless. The tales of his youth are always a joy to listen to, despite how often they have Hop lamenting how boring and uninteresting his own has winded up in comparison.

Besides the whole space Wooloo falling from the sky thing.

Hop glances inside, over at the door leading upstairs and sighs.

Andy hasn’t made any indications of showing her face any time soon. After the initial shock and subsequent stay in his room that night, she refused to have anything to do with Hammerlocke Castle; likely would have run off into the wilderness had Hop not offered up his quarters above the lab. She’s been holed up there ever since, rejecting his offers of conversation, food and beverage. A mumbled explanation of not needing sustenance made it clear he was not welcome near her. Not now.

Hop worries and frets but doesn’t push or intrude. Andy needs time to process what she’s been told. The knowledge of being three millennia ahead of what was once her present time can’t be easy to stomach or come to terms with. She needs space. The other Pokémon may have taken well to her appearance, friendly yet cautious, the surreptitious looks thrown at Hop speaking louder than their words ever could, but their presence is not exactly conducive to silence and solitude. Andy’s apprehension to being around them at the moment is understandable.

As for Leon and Raihan, they'd reacted generally how Hop assumed they would. Leon with his usual cheer and open-arms policy, shrugging off Andy’s means of arrival in favor of making friends, space ‘mon or not.

And Raihan had had this _look_. Standing behind Leon, cloudy eyes fixed on Andy as introductions were made, meeting Hop’s momentarily, for the briefest of seconds, before looking off to the side, caught red-handed, his sheepish smile more of a grimace.

A conversation they would soon need to have about this. As with Andy, Hop figured giving Raihan time to gather his thoughts would be best. Wouldn’t do to ambush and whinge at him for keeping secrets and treating him like a child. Raihan has his reasons, he _always_ does, so he’ll bide his time and wait until Raihan feels the need to inform him on _what the heck is going on._

Everything would add up soon.

“Not cool, Professor. When were you planning on penciling _me_ in?”

Hop whips around to find Victor behind him, a faux expression of offense written all over his face. From his shoulder, Cinder waves.

“Um,” is all Hop says, truly exemplifying his status as an intellectual.

“Joking,” Victor winks. “Kinda. Cinder’s here for tea. We still on?”

 _Good a time as any for a break_ , Hop thinks, ushering Victor and Cinder inside. He rushes off to prepare drinks and snacks upstairs, wilting slightly at the sight of Andy curled beneath the bedcovers. He wishes there were more he could do. Seeing her down in the dumps like this tugs at his heartstrings. When he returns downstairs, tray in hands, he pauses at the bottom, because it’s only until then that he recalls his visitors have yet to meet his assistants.

Victor is seated on the sofa, reclining lazily, one arm stretched along the back as he stares straight into Eltanin’s piercing, scarlet gaze. On either side of Victor, Cinder and Altais watch on.

“Hey,” Victor says, lifting a single hand up. Without hesitation or trepidation, he curls it beneath Eltanin’s chin, scratching lightly, lips curving into a pleased smile when Eltanin blinks in surprise, his ears twitching from the abruptness of the action. Very few approach him so brazenly. “Aren’t you a doll? Done up and prim. Gets it from you, doesn’t he?”

Eltanin lights up.

Just like that, he is _smitten_.

“You’re very good with Pokémon,” Hop comments once he is seated across from Victor, teacup cradled between his hands.

“Nah, they just make sense,” Victor runs a hand along Eltanin’s back from where he’s strewn across his lap, not at all perturbed by his size or weight. His other hand is held in Altais’s grip. She’s shrewdly studying his cuticles. “Ain’t hard to figure out what they want or need. They don’t hide it. Don’t yank you around or keep you guessing. No bullshit with them.”

“I suppose,” Hop agrees with the sentiment. That’s one of the many things there is to like and appreciate about them. Pokémon are right and honest and _true_. If only people could be so simple. “They understand.”

“More than anyone ever gives ‘em credit for,” Victor reaches over to wipe a macaron crumb from Cinder’s mouth. “Everything all right?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Dunno. Looking a little worse for wear s’all,” Victor’s shrug speaks of disinterest, his tone following. His green green eyes say differently. “Something happen? Where’s your sunshine?”

“It’s a partly-cloudy sort of day today,” Is he that obvious with his moods? “You’re keen.”

Victor doesn’t respond to that, his stare unnerving in the sense that it isn’t unnerving at all. It’s firm but not heavy, expectant but not forceful.

Hop sighs. He’s got a feeling those green green eyes are going to be a regular source of trouble for him. The good or the bad sort, he doesn’t know.

“There was…a development, you can say.”

“Was it bad?”

“Something like that. It’s unpleasant for an involved party.”

“Hm,” Victor nods, accepting his answer. He sits up straighter, jostling but not displacing the Pokémon curled around him. “Funny you mention it. Spare me an ear? I’ve got a few things to say. ‘bout what we spoke about the other day. ”

“Of course, but…I hope I’m not inconveniencing you. This is hardly your responsibility.”

“Nothing like that. Technically, I’m supposed to be saving Purrloin from trees right now, but seeing as all I’ve gotten are patrols and desk work so far, I’m stuck twiddling my thumbs. You’re doing me a favor here.”

Hop frowns.

“Hazing?”

Victor guffaws.

“Believe me, Professor, if they tried it, they wouldn’t get away with it. No, this is on me. I chose the wrong city for action. Nothing ever _happens_ here, apparently.”

“I’ve heard it said Hammerlocke is unremarkable in its remarkableness.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Victor slips a notepad from one of his jacket pockets and flips it open. “I went around town collecting statements, asking for anything out of the ordinary. Responses drew a common line.”

“And that was?”

“People skulking around at night. Sightings in alleyways. I didn’t think there was anything unusual about that but, according to everyone I asked, that’s not too common here. Usually it’s Pokémon— _ghosts_ —not people.”

Hop nods. Sounds accurate enough. Hammerlocke is old, the ghost-types that tend to wander at night older. The urban legends surrounding them are popular enough to drive everyone into their homes past sunset. Even Hop doesn’t loiter very long on late nights. Ghost-types have always disconcerted him. That Galahad and his family don’t is simply a matter of Hop growing to love and find comfort in their presence. Even then, they _still_ manage to scare his lights out on a near daily basis.

Also, they’re dragons.

Hop is very biased.

“Seein’ as I kept getting the same responses over and over, I thought I may as well get confirmation. Went down to the station to ask whether they received any recent reports about suspicious individuals loitering around at night. They did. A _lot_. They were actually looking into it when I dropped by.”

“And the timeframe?”

“All within the weeks following that weird sky shit. That, my dear Professor, can’t be a coincidence.”

“I suppose not,” Hop folds his arms across his chest, closing his eyes in thought. “But what might motivate a suspicious individual or individuals to scrounge around in the dark?”

“Hear this,” Victor clears his throat, reading directly from his notepad. “ _You may not want to quote me word by word, but I heard a conversation. A whispered, mumbled thing, barely understandable, but hear it I did. The kitchen window has a direct view into the alleyway. It was open and I was going to shut it for the night when I heard it. I heard someone say something like_ , ‘ _not here either. no, not the pieces, not the pieces_.’ _That’s all. Disappeared right after._ ”

“The pieces…” Hop repeats, understanding dawning on him. “The _pieces_.”

“Bingo,” Victor snaps his fingers. "People grab ‘em up, don’t they? But there wasn’t anything to grab this time. We can’t really reconstruct an entire conversation from just that, but from what I’ve gathered, pieces aren’t worth as much as stars. They might be looking for those instead. Kept coming up empty-handed maybe.”

“But why?”

“I was hoping _you_ could answer that,” Victor says, arching an eyebrow. “What’s their value? Would there be reason to sell them? For cash? Or do they have other uses?”

“Selling might be one probable option, if only for their aesthetic appeal, but I can’t think of any other viable uses. They contain energy of course, but it’s notoriously difficult and costly to extract. It isn’t a large quantity either, minute I would say, so I can’t imagine an energy fiend going after them.”

“And they’ve got no other purpose?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Hop replies apologetically. “Unless they’re planning on creating their own Dynamax Bands.”

Victor blinks.

“The fuck is that?”

Hop proceeds to explain the devices along with the entire phenomenon, about big Pokémon getting bigger and going boom on the pitch and how much Galar loves it. Victor’s eyes glaze over halfway through, although his response afterwards indicates he was paying attention.

“That’s so dumb,” he snorts, barely holding back his laughter. “What? They bend reality to make your ‘mons look big?”

“They also make their attacks stronger.”

“And here I thought mega-evolution was unnecessary,” Victor shakes his head. “You said they’re not common. Think they might be looking to break into the market? Take a piece of the pie while they still can?”

“I don’t think we can discount anything at this point.”

“Fair,” Victor plucks off his beret and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. It’s so fluffy and soft looking, a bed-headed, tangled mess, the color of hickory with notes of cinnamon in the light, almost red in certain angles. It’s a nice color. Just like his eyes.

A splashing sound startles him from his thoughts.

Hop looks down. Cinder is refilling his tea cup, tilting the kettle with adept care. She pulls back when she’s done, smiling and revealing her pointed fangs. She hands him a macaron next, and Hop can barely resist the urge to hug her close and never let go. Surely, Victor wouldn’t mind if he were to sweep her away.

Orange and cute and sweet. His ultimate weakness.

“Thank you,” he says. “I _am_ a little parched.”

Cinder nods sagely, obviously well aware of this fact. She sits next to him and they share a moment of contentment, sipping tea and eating macarons, even though Hop doesn’t care for them at all.

It gives him time to think about everything he and Victor have discussed. It’s going well, and he’s doing a good job of cataloguing all the facts at their disposal until he catches Victor’s eye and his brain decides to go rogue and have his vocal cords oscillate of their own accord.

“You aren’t from Galar,” Hop blurts out, and he sounds every bit the idiot he feels like. Who would say something like that? It’s so _rude_.

“Busted. And I was trying so hard to blend in too,” Victor drawls, laughing as he notices Hop’s horror-stricken face. “Relax. I only bite if asked.”

Hop makes a strangled choking sound.

Victor continues on, unperturbed.

“Unova ring a bell? It’s a long way’s across the pond. Wouldn’t blame ya for being clueless. Very foreign place.”

“I know where Unova is,” Hop huffs at Victor’s amused snickers. “You’ve traveled very far.”

“Perk of the job, I guess. I’ve been to plenty of places. Heard about Galar needing more hands on deck and figured, may as well sign up. Was shooting for Wyndon, but Hammerlocke’s nice. I like it so far. Seen a lot of ‘mons I wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“I’m glad,” Hop replies, genuinely touched. There’s nothing he loves hearing more! “We have a lot of visitors like that. People who travel to Galar looking for Wyndon but stay for Hammerlocke. That’s not to say Wyndon isn’t wonderful. It is. It has plenty to offer and deserves its praise, but Hammerlocke is very special too. It makes me happy when people visit and realize that for themselves. It’s a very old place, but it’s as lively as any other city.”

Victor hums.

“Home sweet home, huh?”

“Yes,” Hammerlocke has been kind to him. Hop does not take her for granted. “I hope you can feel the same. One day.”

“We’ll see, Professor.” Victor sounds tired when he says it.

Hop wonders why.

There’s a lull of silence, one where Hop is innocently unaware of the tiny hooves clicking down the stairs, the petite, fluffy body bounding down at a measured pace, intent on expressing the words she has stewed over for the past week.

_Human. Hop. Child of Man. I require your attention._

The voice doesn’t boom around his head. It’s weak and somewhat hesitant, wavering under a veneer of mustered fortitude. Trying its best. Hop can relate. It’s hard to try your best when the world feels like its crumbling around you.

He turns around, spots Andy at the bottom of the stairs, gaze fixed on the floor, horns drooping, wings curled around her cosmic fleece.

“Yes,” Hop replies, softly. “what is it?”

_I…am unsure what to make of my current circumstances. Your explanation is awful and unbelievable. I have refused to consider it to be so and yet…I find myself unable to interpret any other answer for myself despite all the thought I’ve placed into recent events. I am not so ignorant as to deny reality when I am confronted with facts to support your, admittedly, wild conclusion. That I have found myself far from home, in the oddest sense of the phrase, is clear. While it brings me horrid feelings of displeasure and anxiety, I understand I must face the future with no less than my full strength. I am not one for hiding away in the face of a struggle, you realize. As such, I ask for your patronage and guidance during these tumultuous times, and hope to reciprocate that same support in turn, in whatever form you may require._

“You don’t need to do anything for me,” Hop says kindly. “I’m more than happy to help you. I just hope you’ll let me.”

_I prefer an equal partnership. I am no hatchling in need of coddling, nor a tool to be used. Percival has taught me much of humanity’s ability to cooperate, as well as their inclination towards evil. I hope to share the former with you. You have proven yourself to be a worthy companion._

“Likewise.”

 _Good,_ Andy nods, satisfied with his answer. _Now that we are on the same proverbial page, I request a proper inquisition into Percival’s whereabouts. Your assistance would be appreciated._

“Percival?” Hop hesitates. “Your friend?”

_Friend is a misnomer. Our bond transcends anything the feeble human mind can interpret._

“Best friend, then?”

_….yes. That sounds adequate. I like it._

“Your best friend then,” Hop tries to smile at how pleased she seems with it, but the obvious weighs heavily on both their shoulders. “Andy, I don’t mean to cause you any further anguish, but you understand, after three cycles, Percival surely can’t be—“

 _He is_ , she snaps, her horns ramrod straight now, wings arching back menacingly. _I feel him. I can sense him. That we have been separated is of no matter. You will aid me in my search for him, and we will be reunited. You will meet him and make good friends. You have already given me your word. Do you presume to go back on it?_

“Of course not but…” Hop frowns. He doesn’t begrudge Andy for her attitude. She is grieving, in denial of an unpleasant and painful truth. This Percival person she keeps mentioning obviously meant a lot to her; perhaps was her family the same way Raihan and Leon are his own.

The same way his mother was.

“…all right,” he says, eventually. He doesn’t know where this path will lead, one where he goes along with Andy’s rampant refusal to acknowledge a reality which will hurt her more and more the longer she denies it. He knows it isn’t right and yet…

“When Sophie said you were good with Pokémon, I didn’t think she meant you could literally _talk_ to them.”

Hop’s blood runs cold.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Oh _no_.

“Um,” Hop says, because he is always eloquent when it is required of him. Always.

“You’re like a Pokémon Whisperer,” Victor says, gesturing to a stock-still Andy. Where Hop believes he’s completely blown her cover, he is wrong, because Victor keeps talking as if there’s nothing amiss. Nothing wrong with Hop speaking with a Pokémon. The other residents might be used to it, but Victor hardly is. Besides his talk with Cinder of course, but _still_. “There was a guy like that in Unova.”

 _This is friend,_ Andy’s voice echoes around his head, sounding rather chipper all of a sudden, _it is friend, Hop. He who is righteous and true, just as Percival is. You did not tell me he was visiting._

Hop didn’t say anything because he didn’t know. If he knew she would grow this excited over his presence, he might have tracked the ranger down earlier.

“Friend?” Hop repeats dumbly.

_Yes. He offered to work on your behalf despite his unfamiliarity with your trustworthiness. That such a good judge of character might extend their aid is a sign of good tidings. You must include him in our inquisition. I’ve no doubt Percival will enjoy his company when we are reunited._

“What’s she saying?” Victor asks, not bothering to hide his growing interest in the exchange. “Not anything bad about me, right?”

“Um, no, quite the opposite,” Hop chances one last glance at Andy, who nods and urges him onward. “She, uh, wants you to help. With the investigation. The sky thing.”

“Does she?” Victor frowns. “What’s her stake in it?”

“Uh…” Hop looks at Andy again.

She nods.

With permission, Hop goes on to explain everything about her arrival, leaving out the details about her speaking abilities. He feels ridiculous as he does it, waiting for the moment Victor laughs in his face, labels him a loon, and never returns.

He doesn’t.

Victor listens attentively, nodding where necessitated and asking questions until the time for him to get back to work arrives.

Eltanin clings to him, on the fast track to growing attached against all odds, his standoffish nature included. Altais does the same with Cinder. They’ve made fast friends.

“Can’t say I was expecting this,” Victor tells him at the door, Cinder taking up her usual spot on his shoulder. “A Pokémon falling from the sky. I mean, Unova’s been through its own fair share of weird shit, but still. Talk about bizarre, man.”

“I know,” Hop winces. “It’s a lot to take in. If you’d be so kind, please make sure to keep this to yourself. She’s a Wooloo if anyone asks.”

“Wasn’t aware it was anyone’s business but hers,” Victor replies with a frown. Then, he smiles. “Look at us. Sharing secrets. Keepin’ ‘em. The city’ll be after my head at this rate. Wait ‘till they see us colluding.”

“Why would they react negatively?” Hop asks, confused.

“Dunno. I get the impression they’re protective.”

“They do worry for me,” Hop admits. “Were they to question our involvement, however, I would politely decline any misplaced sentiment. Who I,” Hop uses air quotes for the next words. “decide to ‘collude’ with is my business and my business alone.”

“And ain’t that a beautiful thing,” Victor shakes his head and laughs. Hop likes the way it sounds. He wonders what he finds so funny. “Keep talking like that and I won’t be able to keep away.”

“I hope you don’t. I enjoy your company. Cinder’s as well. I’d like if you two visited again. You can keep helping with our super secret investigation,” Hop winks for good measure. He wants Victor to feel included now that he’s involved. He went out of his way to ask around and report back to Hop with new information when he didn’t have to. It may have been for his own amusement, but that doesn’t matter. It’s help all the same, and Victor deserves to enjoy things now that he’s far away from his home.

That Eltanin, Altais, and Andy like him is a major plus. Anyone that can make friends with his capricious Latios is bound to make for a good investigative partner. He would be remiss not to extend a hand.

Victor whistles, low and slow.

“I’m fucked,” he says plainly, waving off Hop’s confusion at the response. “But yeah, sure, Professor. Let’s do this. I’ve always wanted to investigate ancient Galarian aliens.”

“You have?”

“No, but now I do.”

Victor leaves shortly after that. Not before giving Hop his number of course, something he doesn’t think to return until he’s back at his desk and tapping it into his phone.

_This device allows you to communicate?_

“Yes,” Hop tells Andy, thumbs indecisively hovering over the keypad. He’s nervous for whatever reason. This should not be difficult. All he needs to do is confirm his identity. That way Victor will have his number too, and they can chat about any number of topics, perhaps not even relating to their casework. “You can call and send each other messages with them. Distance doesn’t matter.”

_Amazing. The advancement of magic is truly astonishing._

“Science. Technology, really.”

_That sounds droll. Barbaric, even. Magic sounds pleasant. Is the title of Wizard not infinitely more impressive than Professor? Would you not prefer it?_

“If I could perform magic I might, but seeing as I can’t, professor will have to do,” Hop settles for his name and a thumbs up emoji to further establish their so-called scandalous collusion with one another. Victor replies with one of his own, followed by an excessive close-up shot of Cinder’s grinning face, her claws blurring the sides. Hop saves it as his contact image before showing it to Altais.

“Cute, isn’t it?”

She blinks, taking the phone from him. With a few taps, a flash, and a scroll or two, she flips the screen towards him. Loe and behold, a fully edited, filtered image of a very adorable Flaaffy stares back at him, complete with cute neon pink hearts lining the border.

“You’re too cute. I don’t wanna share it,” Hop says, laughing when she rolls her eyes and sends it for him.

_A magical painting?_

“A picture,” Hop provides. “From a camera. They’re very common. Would you like to try it for yourself?”

Andy does. She spends the rest of the day amusing herself with his phone, Altais guiding her through all its various functions and apps while Eltanin helps Hop with some work out back. When they get back, later, drenched in sweat and dirt, she’s sat on her haunches, tapping furiously at the screen.

 _We must liberate these unfortunate souls, Hop. A horrid dungeon disguised as a disgustingly whimsical lodge is holding them captive_. _Why, were I at full strength, I would slay the evil enchantress myself. This Leah character will pay dearly for deceiving innocent creatures into servitude. The wicked deserve no mercy._

“Firstly, please don’t speak ill of Leah. She’s lovely and kind. Secondly, it’s just a game, Andy. They’re not real.”

_Their cries are. Their misery is. You propose I turn a blind eye to their suffering?_

“They look like they’re having fun to me.”

Before Andy can attempt to argue why that is certainly not the case, the door opens once again, jingling and revealing a tall, lanky figure. He ducks beneath the head jamb in what is a practiced motion, repeated day after day to accommodate all the extra height the average door frame generally lacks.

He looks around, something akin to fondness decipherable in those sleepy, cyan eyes.

“Raihan?” Hop says, surprised. “Is everything all right? Did something happen?”

“Not sure if this counts, but Lee got a paper-cut earlier,” Raihan supplies with a smile. “Patched him up with a Rayquaza bandage. He keeps showing it off and making everyone jealous.”

“I can’t believe he would do something like that. Someone needs to take him down a peg or two.”

“But that’s part of his charm,” Raihan laughter peters out as he catches sight of Andy. “…Hop, you’re not in any rush to get anywhere are you?”

“No. We were going home. Why?”

Raihan nods. He turns to Eltanin.

“Why don’t you and Al go on ahead? I’ve got something to show him. We’ll catch up soon, ‘kay?”

While curious, Eltanin ultimately agrees, the call of a proper bath too tempting to pass up. When he tries to offer Andy a ride on his back, on the off chance she’s willing to join them, Raihan stops him.

“Actually, I think the little miss better tag along too, if that’s all right with her.”

“Oh,” Hop looks to Andy, careful not to give anything away. “Is that okay?”

Andy shuffles her feet, acquiescing with a nod. Hop feels like Raihan would appreciate knowing about her speaking abilities, but she’s been adamant about not letting anyone else know; made him swear on it. If she refuses to betray the image of confused and helpless space Wooloo, who is Hop to go against her wishes?

“A lady of few words,” Raihan jokes.

Hop sighs.

“She’s a real chatterbox.”

They leave.

Raihan doesn’t say anything the entire walk. Doesn’t hum or whistle or engage Hop is his usual conversations, light-hearted and kind and interested in anything he’s working on. He’s silent, his thoughts elsewhere, the furrow to his brows prominent. Whatever worries have gripped his person, they’ve taken ahold of his usual easy-going demeanor, replaced instead with consternation. When they finally arrive at their destination, the vault, he worsens, worrying Hop immensely. The vault is usually a place of great wonder and joy for both of them. Somewhere Raihan truly shines, the same way he does on the pitch, in the midst of battle, the winds howling around him as he growls out command after command.

_You think very highly of your father._

“Sure you’re not a mind reader?” Hop mutters under his breath. He doubts Raihan would have heard him if he spoke any louder, deep in thought and occupied with unlocking the doors.

_As I said, you think loudly. As loudly as Titania._

“Titania?” Hop says, jolting when Raihan’s head snaps in his direction. They stare at one another until Raihan seems to remember himself, mumbles something under his breath, and shoves one of the doors open, holding it for them.

 _Percival’s beloved,_ Andy explains, casting an odd look at Raihan before following them in, _I spoke with her, once, before…_

She trails off, visibly closing off. Hop figures pressing her won’t get him any more information, so he doesn’t.

Instead, he follows Raihan, silently, through the front room, up the stairs, past rooms upon rooms filled with ancient tomes and scriptures, dating back hundreds and hundreds of years. Rich and heavy with lore. Things like the scourges and Great Lady Charlotte’s adventures into Galarian regional unity.

 _Three cycles_ , Hop thinks again, arriving to the abrupt realization that he doesn’t know all that much regarding the period prior.

“Got your key?” Raihan asks once they’re upstairs, outside, in front of the pavilion with a pair of ancient doors, offset by two checkered flags. The torches on either side burn bright under the evening sky, crackling softly, embers waning and dissipating into the breeze.

“Of course,” Hop lays a hand on his waistcoat, fingers catching on the hidden mound beneath. Two keys grind against one another, ever-present on his person. “Always.”

Raihan finally smiles at that.

“Have a crack at it, then.”

“Here?”

“Where else?”

“But you’ve told me not to. Not here.”

Raihan blinks.

“You're telling me you’ve never been inside?”

“You told me not to.”

“Not even once?”

“You told me not to,” Hop repeats yet again, frowning. He’s a curious sort. That cannot be denied. An invader of privacy and destroyer of good will he is _not_.

If it was Leon who had asked, he likely would have snuck in anyway, because disobeying his brother still isn’t something he’s grown out of. Raihan’s a completely different story.He rarely ever requests things of that nature. The few times he has, the reasoning has always been personal. Close to his heart and difficult to discuss, even for him.

Hop doesn’t like to make distinctions, not within his own family, but it’s easier to trample all over the unwritten lines with Leon, because he and Leon are always stumbling into each other’s business gracelessly, like a pair of confused Spinda. It’s easier to work things out with him, because they never know what they’re doing with each other in terms of personal space and feelings. They mess up all the time and fix things with their usual patchwork clumsiness. Nowhere near perfect and very very messy and horrible, but entirely them through and through.

It’s different with Raihan.

Hop knows it’s not healthy, placing Raihan on a pedestal just like he did with his mother. Like he still occasionally does because sometimes nostalgia clouds his vision and his affections are a confusing mess of what he wishes were true and what actually is, even after all these years.

But Raihan had looked so _stern_ when he said it all those years ago. Told Hop under no uncertain terms he wasn’t allowed to go in because he just _wasn’t_. No questions about it.

Not scary or mean or nasty. Never nasty or mean or scary. Just stern.

Maybe a little worried.

So Hop hadn’t. He steered clear of the place, passing it by whenever winding stairs lead him close on his way elsewhere. Trained himself not to think hard about it, because Raihan has his reasons. He always does.

Maybe he’s about to find out what they are.

“My little boy scout,” Raihan chuckles, ruffling Hop’s hair. He’s still looking down at him, much to Hop’s displeasure. He’s always hoped a freak growth spurt would send him shooting past the astonishing six foot eight height. No such luck, unfortunately. “Thanks for listening, I guess. Not sure if that’s a good thing.”

“Depends on what you want to show me, I reckon.”

“Yeah,” Raihan sighs, jutting his shoulder in the direction of the door. “wanna do the honors?”

Hop does. He fumbles with the key a bit, his anticipation and excitement getting the better of him initially, but once the key’s been slotted in, it turns with a satisfying _clunk_ , the door falling back with a creak. He exchanges a look with Raihan, silently asking one final time if it’s really all right for him to go in. At his confirmation, he finally— _finally_ —heads in, Andy close on his heels.

And what he finds is…

…not much, actually.

A large, echoey chamber. Cool and drafty and made entirely of stone, the grated windows high above allowing for the faintest rays of a late day’s sun to shine through, moats of dust visible beneath the light. Their shadows cast checkered patterns on the cool floors. Along the walls hang four tapestries, each depicting a different scene, a distinctly medieval flare to the artwork. On the farther ends lies a conspicuously empty space, one that grates on Hop’s nerves, the urge to rearrange everything into something more symmetrical making his fingers twitch. At the center of the room sits a lone stone pedestal, a glass case housing what appears to be a worn and wrinkled journal sat atop it.

Hop isn’t sure how to feel about any of it.

On one hand, he’s happy to know what lay beyond those accursed doors after all these years, eager to ask questions and get answers.

On the other hand, it’s a bit underwhelming. He was expecting untold treasures, jewels and gold and antiques and really cool swords and stuff. It would only make sense for the dragon of Hammerlocke to hoard his fair share of super secret rarities no ordinary human could ever dare lay eyes upon. Even a crusty set of armor would have done.

The researcher in Hop cheers. The starry-eyed little kid with one too many fantasy stories stuffed into his head however…

_What a pathetic hoard this is._

Hop stifles a snort at Andy’s lackluster response, the click of her hooves echoing around the chamber as she takes in the sights.

_Why, my own are far more impressive. Glitter and shine as far as the eye can see. Percival thinks it gauche. What a fool. He lacks an appreciation for the finer things in life. This is why he flounders for the fair Titania’s affection. Were he to gift her a stone, a jewel forged beneath the very crust of the Earth, she would perhaps consider deigning him with her attention. He’s such an oaf._

“I’ve actually found letters to be a better courting method.”

“You have?” Raihan says, one half amused and one half confounded by Hop’s sudden admission. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. He _really_ needs to get a better handle on this telepathic conversation thing. “What, got your eye on someone?"

“ _No_ ,” Hop quickly denies, blood rushing to his cheeks. Vivid emerald invades his thoughts before being shoved to the deepest recesses of his mind. “No, _no_. That’s, uh, no. Not—no.”

“Don’t gotta be shy about it, kiddo. It happens. Not to everyone, but there _is_ help for this kinda thing.”

“It’s not a thing.”

“Sure about that?”

“ _Yes_.”

“If you say so,” Raihan doesn’t look like he believes him, as if Hop would lie about something like this, but he doesn’t pursue the conversation further, besides saying, “but if it ever does, y’know, become a _thing_ , you know you can talk to me about it, right? Any time. I’d include Lee, but he’s not a good source for romantic advice.”

Hop raises a single, disbelieving eyebrow.

“I don’t know about that. Leon isn’t the one hyperventilating over hand-holding. He’s the one _initiating_ it. He’s what us kids call _smooth_.”

“I can’t believe my own son is attacking me like this.”

Hop rolls his eyes, giving the room another once-over, “not that I’m not interested in spilling my non-existent romantic feelings for someone who doesn’t exist, but why are we here? I mean, I’m glad, but…”

Raihan doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, he saunters over to the pedestal, eyes trailing over the tapestries without much thought, seeing through them rather than at them. It’s the look of someone who’s seen them many many times prior, already bored of even the most minute of detail. Hop knows, because it’s the same for him whenever he gets a little too involved with his projects, observing the smallest details over and and over until the back of his eyelids are stamped with words and images and archaic language.

“What do you know about the Darkest Day?” Raihan asks him, eyes fixed on the dusty journal. “Give me a brief synopsis, Prof.”

“The Darkest Day?” Hop echoes back, eyebrows knitting together at the unexpected question. “A cosmic horror descended upon the region, bringing terror, fear, and near destruction across the land. With his fancy sword and shield in hand, the ancient hero-king slayed them, saving Galar from the brink and uniting our war-torn region once and for all,” except not really, because Galar uniting and being capable of remaining that way is actually a huge joke among historians, who cannot feasibly count the amount of times it _hasn’t_. Charlotte’s reign was the longest it managed before a whole scuffle over city states and a bunch of ridiculous political in-fighting occurred, all of which threatens Hop with a bitter headache for simply recalling, given the tortuous time memorizing everything from his textbooks for finals was, “that’s how it goes, right?”

“That’s what they teach the kiddos in school. Real romantic, huh? Big hero comes in and saves everyone? Open and closed book. No two sides about it.”

“I guess it’s pretty bare bones."

“You ever find it weird how they skim over those chapters? Don’t dig too deeply into them? What, they spare a paragraph or two and move on? That’s odd, innit?”

“…you think there’s more to it.”

“I _know_ there is,” Raihan taps a finger against the glass case. “Hammerlocke’s got secrets, Hop. Lots and lots of them. Even I don’t know all of ‘em, but I do know what’s most important. It ain’t all pretty, some of it’s pretty fucked up if I’m being honest, but it’s mine to protect. That’s what my grandad taught me. That’s what he told me to do, because it’s what we’ve _always_ done. My family. I guess.”

He pauses, ruminating over his next words.

“…I lied to you,” he eventually says, quietly. Apologetic blues fix onto Hop’s golden. “I’m sorry, Sweet-pea. I know you hate that. I know you don’t deserve that, but I wasn’t sure what to say. It’s complicated, this family business stuff, but the last thing I want is for you to think I’m keeping things from you because I don’t trust you. That’s not true. Not a bit. Please don’t think that.”

“I know,” Hop replies kindly. “I know, Raihan. I get it. I forgive you. I’m not mad.”

_You should be. He’s a liar._

Hop ignores Andy’s petulant huffing, attention fixed entirely on Hammerlocke’s guardian.

“Thing is, it’s—I don’t even know how to go about this,” Raihan lets out a frustrated groan. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but does it even matter at this point? I mean, she’s—“ he looks at Andy, who’s frowning up at the tapestries. “Hop, you and I both know she’s not here for no reason. That she wasn’t up _there_ for no reason. She’s not ordinary and she’s definitely not a Wooloo. What happened that day wasn’t normal and it’s probably history coming back to bite us in the ass. We can agree on that, can’t we?”

“Of course.”

“And we can both agree this doesn’t leave this room.”

“If that’s what you think is best.”

“For now, it has to be.”

Raihan takes the glass off the book, carefully placing it onto the floor. Gently, reverently, he lays a hand upon the journal with a certain air of familiarity.

“…when I was a kid,” he softly begins. “the old man told me to never come in here. Again and again. Reminded me every chance he got. Said it wasn’t safe. I’d get hurt. Said there were monsters and ghosts ready to drag me away if I did,” he laughs, humorlessly. “didn’t seem like a bad deal to me at the time. I didn’t listen. I snuck in whenever I could, because I was a brat who didn’t like listening to anything anyone told me. Touched everything up. Even knocked over one of those pretty pictures,” he gestures to the tapestries. “Left and didn’t say a word about it. When I came back, it was up again. I think he knew, my old man. Never acted like he did, but I think—I _know_ —he knew. Was always spoiling me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Sparin’ me from any trouble. He never got cross with me, not really.”

Briefly, Raihan’s expression takes on a faraway look.

“Think he felt bad for me. Pity, y’know? Used the kid gloves all the time, ‘cause the people who should’ve weren’t there to do it.”

“Love, not pity,” Hop corrects softly, because Raihan never really thinks it’s about the former, even when it cannot be anything else with him. Not him. _Never_ him. “he loved— _loves_ —you, so he was kind.”

“He shouldn’t have been. If he hadn’t—if he _hadn’t_ —”

“I’m glad he was,” Hop gently cuts Raihan off from the perilous train of thought he’s teetering on the ledge of. They’re all a little masochistic in that sense, he and Raihan and Leon, treading a beaten path over and over and over, poking at scars until they swell and blister and bleed all over again. “I’m so glad he was kind to you, because you’ve been so kind to me, and I like to think that he inspired that in you, and that you took it to heart because it meant as much to you as it does to me.”

Raihan clenches his jaw and looks away. He swallows thickly, his next words raspy and wet.

“Yeah,” he husks. “I’m…I’m glad too.”

He takes a moment to regain his composure, closing his eyes, taking a few deep, steadying breaths.

“Where was I?” He asks, eventually.

“You weren’t allowed here, but that didn’t stop you.”

“Right,” Raihan nods. “Spent a lot of time here, wondering about what any of it meant. Why he wanted me to keep away. This thing here,” he gestures to the journal, fondness evident in the way his fingers brush against the cover. “They were my friend. Before Lulu, before the challenge or the cup or the stadium. Before I met your brother or Sonia, Nessa or Piers, they kept me company. I’ve had a lot of bad days, ones I don’t like to think about even now. Whenever that happened, whenever I couldn’t sleep or think or handle the shit thrown my way, I came here and…read. And read and read and read. Because this here, _this_ guy, he got it. He got _me_. I’d feel like I couldn’t breathe and all I had to do is read one of this _dumbass’s_ entries and it all…” he shakes his head, lips curling in amusement. “…clicked, I guess. I wasn’t on my own. It wasn’t just me. He knew what it was like and I…it was a _relief_. And I thought, if he could deal, if he could push through, so could I, and it made a world of a difference. Didn’t fix everything, but it helped, and it made me feel like…like if he could inspire me, maybe I could do the same.”

Raihan picks the journal up, wiping the dust away with a careful touch.

“I haven’t read it in a while, haven’t needed it in longer, but I can tell you there’s a lot in here that doesn’t exist outside of this room. I don’t know if I’m one to judge why that is, why us vault keepers feel the need to keep it hidden away, but that’s the way it’s always been. I think…maybe the old man wanted to change that. Maybe he was trying to tell me to give it a shot, to be the one to bring it all to light. I can’t be certain but—“

Raihan holds it out, offering it towards Hop.

“Maybe now’s the best time to do it,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You’ve already got one piece of the puzzle,” he gestures at Andy, who’s now observing him attentively. “what’s uncovering the rest? Rewrite the fucking history books, Hopscotch. _Properly_ this time.”

Hop stares.

“…you want me to…” he shakes his head fervently. “I can’t do that! This is yours! If anyone should do it, it should be you!”

“I’m old, Hop—“

“— _you’re barely in your thirties_ —“

“—like I said, _old_ ,” Raihan tuts at Hop’s disbelieving glare. “I’m busy. I don’t have time to go digging around Galar looking for clues to some off the handle theory about Galar’s _very_ real and _very_ accurate history. Maybe once, when I was a wee lad, but not now. I’ve got a fucking castle to upkeep, council members to hand their asses to, and a family to feed. Packed schedule. No openings available—“

“ _Raihan_ —“ Hop interrupts miserably. “I _can’t._ I’m _not_ —“

“You _are_ ,” Raihan shoots back, firm and resolute and so painfully _loving_. _Arceus_ , how could this person not realize how good they are? How warm and kind and generous and _loving_ he is? “Y’know, I’m used to people talking shit about me. Running their mouths about who I am, what I do, and who I decide to spend my time with. I’ve heard it all, from all sorts of folks with all sorts of agendas, trying to discourage me, to _scare_ me, send me running with my tail between my legs. Tough shit. The Great Raihan ain’t a fucking _coward._ He’s got too many people he cares about to let any of that stop him from doing right by them.”

Raihan steps forward, takes Hop’s hand, gently always so _gentle_ , and places the journal onto it, settling his own on top.

“Got told I’d never have a real family before,” he continues, quietly. “believed it for a long, long time. I let them get to me. I learned not to, ‘cause I had my old man. I always did. I always will. And then I met Lulu. Then Lee. Then Sonia and Ness and Piers too. All our ‘mons, lil’ Marnie, my city, my _people_. They’re _all_ my people, whether they like it or not,” he laughs and smiles, meeting Hop’s eyes, the abundance of affection and adoration visible with his own nearly bringing him to tears. “And _then_ —well, y’see Hop, I’d always thought I wouldn’t have kids, _couldn’t_ have them, because I’d be as shitty to them as my parents were to me. I’d fail them in every way, the way I always failed everyone, because that's all I was good for. All I _thought_ I was good for. And then—“ he laughs again. “And then I met _you_ , and it was like a breath of fresh air, because all I could think about from then on _wasn't_ failing you. It was how _happy_ you were going to be, because I was going to do everything in my power to make sure you _never_ thought you didn’t matter. _Never_. Not on my watch.”

He takes Hop’s free hand and sets it onto the journal as well, letting go.

“We’re not blood,” Raihan says. “but family isn’t made of blood. You’re not my son, but _dammit_ if you’re not my kid. Take the damn journal, Hop, and go write a _helluva_ exposé from it, because if anyone deserves to tell people the truth about this city, about _Galar_ , it’s my own fucking _heir_.”

The dam breaks.

Hop cries.

Hop cries and cries and cries, because he’s still that same little boy he’s always been, begging for attention and affection and _acknowledgment_ , because his mother’s not here, not anymore, and if she can’t give it to him, it may as well be Raihan, his friend and his family and his—

His _father_ , in all the ways that matter and none of the ways that don’t.

And Raihan holds him, and he might be crying too, but Hop doesn’t know because he’s too busy wailing into his chest. He doesn’t notice when Andy walks out to give them privacy, but he’ll be sure to thank her for it later, when he’s coherent. When he’s not a blubbering mess. Not anytime soon in his current state. He’s a mess. He’s ridiculous. It’s a little difficult not to feel that way about himself, because Hop’s spent most of his life wondering why he never had a proper father when the best one he could have asked for has spent more than a decade of his life showing him exactly _why_ he deserves that title, and isn’t that wonderful thing?

Hop cries and cries and cries, and Raihan holds him, and everything is all right, because he’s not Raihan’s son, but he _is_ his kid, and if there’s anything to hold close to his heart and hoard safe like a treasure, it’s that very fact.


	6. discovering the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> much ado about the past, present, and future.

Hop is quite pleased with his self-control.

Normally when he receives gifts of the literary variety, he’s devoured them within a fortnight. Regardless of the quality, unless it turns out to be excessively dull or uninspired, his drive to keep turning pages urges him onward until day turns to night turns to day and his alarm is ringing and reminding him of his poor life decisions.

There’s none of that this time around, because this particular journal is deserving of more than a rapid-pace skim. It would be simple to burn through the contents in a sleep-deprived state, sating his never-ending hunger for information and knowledge. Hop refuses to allow that of himself. This is about more than his own curiosity or self-indulgent whims and fancy. Raihan has entrusted him with a piece of himself, something he holds dear, which aided him during a tumultuous period in his life; bestowed upon him a responsibility far beyond what Hop thinks himself deserving of.

Surely, Raihan would be better suited to pursuing this venture.

But Raihan doesn’t want to. He thinks Hop should, because he says Hop is his _heir,_ the simple reminder of which is enough to place a goofy grin on his face. It reminds him of those books his mum used to read him at bedtime. He may live in a literal castle, but he’s hardly ever felt like a prince.

Maybe he does now.

Maybe.

Just a _little_.

And as a prince would do, he gets on with his duties and cracks the journal open.

It isn’t especially thick, Hop notes, carefully thumbing through the crinkly time-worn pages. He would be hard-pressed to say it’s any longer than the average fiction novel. Far shorter than anything he’s become accustomed to reading.

In terms of convenience, that’s certainly a positive. It means he won’t need to scrounge a two-thousand page tome until he’s old and grey. In terms of information collection, however, it’s slightly worrying. Quantity isn’t always better than quality, but when working with the intent of revealing an unknown truth or discrediting misconceptions and falsehoods, sources are vital and obligatory. Conjectures are easy to make. Without evidence to back them up, they’re worthless, meaning the more he can collect, the easier it’ll be to piece everything together and support whatever conclusions he arrives at, be they good or bad.

_Might you be planning on reading any time soon? I tire of watching you idle._

“This is a big deal, Andy,” Hop replies, placing a single kiss on Eltanin’s head. He’s strewn atop Hop’s torso, snout buried into his neck, his even breaths tickling his skin. It may be considered ill-advised to read like this, with his big baby Latios weighing down on him, but it’s quiet and comfortable, and Hop retains more when it’s both as opposed to neither. That the rest of his roommates are asleep also helps, Dreepy and Drakloak alike curled up in the wide array of fluffy beds scattered just about everywhere, Galahad, Gwin and Gwen forming a pile around Altais at the foot of Hop’s. “Feels like it deserves ceremony.”

_Ceremony should be reserved for the ancients. Anything else is superfluous._

“As superfluous as a hoard?”

_Hold your tongue, human._

“I thought I was Hop.”

 _You are Hop when you refrain from saying foolish, foolish things,_ **_human_ ** _._

Hop stifles a laugh at the glower directed his way. Andy is a creature far beyond his understanding, as she oh so enjoys pointing out, but he can recognize sulking when he sees it.

“I’m surprised you agreed to join us tonight,” he says to spare himself an impending rant. “I’m glad but. I just thought…”

_…it is difficult. My attachments are not to this pillar of stone. It is meaningless to me. Despite that, my dearest Percival’s absence from it brings me immense sorrow. He holds great affection for it, would defend it to his dying breath if necessary. I do not claim to understand his devotion, nor his fealty towards those undeserving, but what is precious to him is precious to me. If I must guard it in his stead, then I will do so unflinchingly._

“I don’t think he would want you to hurt yourself for his sake,” Hop replies with a frown. “You don’t need to stay here.”

_I do and I will. You will not sway me._

Andy is firm in her declaration, burrowing further into the bedcovers beside him.

_I am no stranger to solitude. I cherished it above all else. Once. It’s odd. I’ve never had need for company and yet…_

She stops there, trailing off into a silent plea to discuss anything but. The unspoken lies loudly between them, a sentiment Hop is grossly familiar with. He grants them both the mercy of no further discussion and returns to the task a hand, the call of duty no better a distraction than whatever fanciful reassurances Hop could pathetically offer up to a millennia-old deity.

Or something like that. It’s so easy to forget she’s not actually a Wooloo.

“Let’s get started then,” Hop suggests, flipping to the first page.

Andy says nothing, though her horns twitch to indicate she is listening.

He begins, dropping directly into what feels like the middle of an ongoing conversation.

* * *

_It is done._

_All is hidden, all should be well. All is as it should be._

_I jest._

_It’s laughable._

_Nothing is as anything merits, despite my best efforts. Had I known earlier what that calamitous day’s events might entail, perhaps I would have done more to prevent them. Right under the foot of the perpetrator and somehow, I found myself completely blindsided to their wild machinations._

_I am no wild hound. An ignorant pup fits my likes better, for all the good my supposed keen senses have done me._

_It is far too late to grieve over what has come to pass, though lament I will, for as long as the memories preside over my mind’s eye. A suitable punishment for my lamentable ignorance and hasty behavior._

_Always so hasty, as a fair and wise lady is always informing me. That she has remained at my side in spite of it, the winds at my back and the steel behind my blade, brings me no small amount of relief. I do not know what I would have done without her to stay my unsteady hand and make sense of these maddening days, where my grief is never-ending, the presence of my pack incapable of assuaging my guilt._

_Because it is that, guilt, what ultimately ails me._

_Not for what I have done, to them, to the people, to my ineffable lordship, who scuffles within the shadows of his own abode, lacking the same posturing he held before his folly nearly doomed us all._

_No, guilt should be reserved for the deserving. For those you have slighted under your care. For those who have done nothing to warrant harm._

_For her._

_For what I have done._

_May the Original One seek penance from me, for what I have done to their blessed child. May I be absconded to the deepest reaches of the nether and suffer for any hurt I may have caused her. She is undeserving. For all she has bled, to be hung among the stars once more, forgotten and abandoned to the whims of the universe is a cruelty I will never forgive myself for._

_My intentions have always been to keep her safe, to protect her from an ill-meaning humanity too consumed by their own avarice to realize the harm they are inflicting upon the essence of the Earth itself. I would do anything, be anyone, even a villain, to spare her from their ravages._

_I regret that I may not live long enough to beg her forgiveness. To throw myself at her feet and accept her railings against the betrayal of our mutual trust. Our bond. Our friendship._

_Our kinship._

_I regret hurting her. Heavens above, I regret ever making her unhappy. That I carry on with this agony is far too merciful a punishment._

_I mustn’t dwell on this any longer. My anger clouds my vision. Were I not aware of my own inclinations towards brashness, I might run after that skulking rodent of a monarch and wring his throat myself, for all the misery his ill-conceived actions have caused. For the lies awaiting Galar’s progeny._

_No, I mustn’t act on my emotions. My fair lady tells me there is nothing to be done but to move forward. To live for the benefit of the people, as my dearest friend would have wanted._

_Thusly, the gears of fate have been set into motion. I have taken the liberty of forcing them into a different direction, one where Galar’s greatest treasure is hidden away in an unlikely place, never to be utilized for the sake of humanity’s selfish desires ever again. It is my hope, my sincerest of wishes, that when she awakens once more, the people of Galar will have become a unified force worthy of her presence. A gentle, kind people, who do not take more than is offered and offer back what is taken._

_A foolhardy dream perhaps, but one I long for greatly, given the circumstances._

_And as for the rest, the relics and depictions, the odes and poems written in her glory, they have also been scattered, to be uncovered by one of worth, one willing to bring Galar’s shame to light and allow us to grieve our own misguided mistakes._

_That is the plan, in any case._

_My dearest calls my actions ill-advised, my intentions an injustice. She says I am breeding a country of fools._

_So be it. Faster would I be to block their sun with my fingertip than to explain a truth they are unwilling to parse, no matter what it may mean for the future, for those with a shred of remorse within their hearts._

_The fates are unforgiving, I have learned, and unmerciful in the applications of their will._

_If I am to be dealt a grievous slight against my person, one that tears into my flesh for how it pains me, I will respond in kind._

_A good man I am not. My intentions are self-serving, as they will always be. In my generosity, I will tear away their only claim to glory._

_Galar will have the hero they so seek. They will curse and abhor the demon they once exalted._

_And in that time, she will rest, as she is deserving, for Galar deserves nothing more from a goddess who proclaims to be nothing of the sort._

_Until the time comes where she stirs from sleep, I will watch over Galar in her stead, accept the crown, and pray for her well-being._

_My dearest Andromeda, may you find happiness and peace whenever you wake, be gifted with safety and security, and meet those who adore you as much as I._

_For now, I will keep up the good fight._

_In the name of the Original One, the Great Lord Percival swears it._

* * *

“Percival,” Hop murmurs, a mixture of remorse, sorrow and intrigue tugging at his heartstrings. For someone to go so far to protect another speaks of an immensely powerful bond. The extremity of the actions notwithstanding, it’s clear it wasn’t anything he wanted to go through with, but rather something he felt he had to. And for what? What could have happened to drive this Percival person to erase Andy’s existence from the region? What had they done to earn his ire and distrust?

What did they take from Andy?

“Andy,” Hop says softly, glancing over at her. He finds her staring at the journal in his hands, her bright eyes watery, glistening under the faint rays of moonlight peeking through the curtains.“This is…”

_It is. Never could I have imagined he would be so eloquent, with speech or writing._

She laughs, and it’s a choked, miserable little titter, dry and bitter and angry.

_That fool. Of course Titania says he’s brash. He’s hasty. Always so hasty. He never thinks, not when it truly matters. What a fool. The biggest fool of them all. What do I care for honor and glory? I care not for what Galar thinks of me, whether they are aware of my existence or not. I am to protect this land, as my predecessors have, give life and do all I can for its inhabitants, because that is how it has always been and that is how it will always be._

“He’s the one who put you in the sky?”

_Of course he is. Who else would be foolish enough to have me exiled for my own protection? Yes, it was Percival, because he was too kind to mercifully finish me off. He should have. It would have saved us all the trouble._

“Please don’t say that,” Hop replies with a frown. Thank goodness Percival had the good sense not to. He’s not sure how much better a course of action trapping her in the sky is, but at least she’s alive and well. Relatively. “Andy, I know none of this is very pleasant to talk about, but there’s a lot I’m not understanding. What happened? Why would he send you away? Why go that far?”

_It’s not your concern Hop. Don’t worry yourself._

“Does this have to do with the Darkest Day?”

_I don’t know what that is._

“Then what _do_ you know? I would really appreciate if you were more forthcoming with information. I want to help you, I want to make sense of all this, but I can’t if you don’t tell me what you know. All I’m aware of is exactly what I told Raihan. Day turned to night, a vicious monster attacked, and the legendary hero-king took them down, saving us. If that’s not true and you know more, please tell me. Maybe…maybe you know something that can help us learn more about Percival. Seems like he was pretty integral to…whatever that mess was.”

Andy falls silent, her mouth twisted into a pronounced frown. Hop is almost lead to believe she’s ignoring him, the way she pointedly refuses to look his way, but then the soft cadence of her voice reaches him, and it takes all his power not to jostle Eltanin awake to gather her into his arms, her sadness and resignation hitting violently, tumultuous and fierce.

_It is…complicated to say the least. That day, the very last moments I remember before Percival and those two—well, it is as he says. For my sake. I was not in a good state of mind at the time, courtesy of his royal divinity Kingliness amazing super special-ness the third._

“That’s a mouthful.”

_Yes, well, he is—was—a character. Sought absolute power in the face of growing discontent, due entirely to his own incompetence. I suppose he thought me a simple solution._

“I don’t understand.”

_My scales. We have spoken of their power. It is not limited to emergency travel. It is more. Can be much, much more. They were borne of the Earth, as I was, and back they shall return._

“The essence of the Earth,” Hop says, recalling Percival’s writing.

Andy huffs out a laugh, hollow and bitter.

_Yes, I suppose that’s correct. These lands are mine to protect. I am to ensure they flourish. Never to abandon and never at excess. At that time, Galar was on the brink of famine. War had broken out. The Earth was scorched. Dead. He had given the order. He demanded I restore and regenerate what was lost. I refused. It is not my duty to fix what the humans have destroyed. There is a balance to maintain, a scale so to speak, one not in my place to tip._

_He grew angry. It did not matter that my brethren were displaced, their homes destroyed, their lives taken. It did not matter what little my kin could claim was stripped from them, driving them further and further from their homeland. It did not matter that they, the humans, thought their lives above the creatures they relied upon for aid and sustenance. What mattered was I refused to oblige, refused to carry out orders that would have rotted the Earth from the inside and out. Permanently. It did not matter. None of it did._

Andy pauses.

_…humans can be so very cruel when they wish to be._

“They can,” Hop agrees once the silence stretches, his petite companion not inclined to continue her tale any further. He can’t blame her for that. It sounds horrid, far beyond anything he can stomach. It isn’t anything new, not when Pokémon are powerful, otherworldly beings with much to offer, their consent irrelevant to the abusers who take from them. Galar has its own share atrocities etched onto paper, those not hidden, scourges and extinctions and blatant destruction of entire species and biomes.

It makes him ill. It makes him sick and still, he wants to ask. Wants to know what they did to her. What they did to drive Percival to such extreme measures to protect her, what could have possibly warranted separating them indefinitely.

He doesn’t. _Arceus_ , he doesn’t think he can handle the answer, not after what she’s already discussed. She’ll tell him, he thinks, when she’s ready. Not like he doesn’t have plenty of time to figure it out going forward.

Not like Andy is obligated to tell him anything at all. Not if she doesn’t want to.

With nothing left to say on the matter, not for today, Hop skims through the following pages. They’re nothing especially telling or helpful to their investigation, anecdotes and short stories and musings. Seems Raihan was correct in finding Percival’s writing amusing. When he isn’t jotting down gloomy descriptions of his personal tragedies, his manner is no different than that of a young adult, excitable and headstrong.

Hop doesn’t delve too deeply into those sections. It feels too personal still, too entirely close to Raihan. It’s silly to have reservations about it since he’s been given express permission to peruse the contents as much as he wants, but the part of him that constantly wishes to indulge his ever-hardworking and generous father figure overpowers any sense of curiosity he may have.

Hop brushes past those passages, not taking in much of the personal exchanges, in favor of ones more critical to their goals.

It doesn’t take long. The beginning of one entry starts out as such:

* * *

_It_ ~~_has been brought_ ~~ _has come to my attention that hiding away very important relics and leaving no instructions as to how to find them is a very bad and very irresponsible thing to do._

_Titania is beside herself. I have taken refuge in my quarters to avoid her critical and scathing remarks. My hounds are of no help. They have taken her side in the matter and look upon me with dismay, Zacian especially._

_Zamazenta cares little. He cannot. The absence of our dear friend has hit him the hardest. He remains at my side, requesting pats. I don’t mind. I gather it’s as much for his sake as it is mine._

_In any case, I suppose I ought to jot those locations down, although I loathe to make a simple list of it. All the time and effort placed into each and every hiding spot seems like a waste if I make it easy. The point is that they not be found, but the truth should one day be unearthed, should it not? There was a point to not destroying any of it, wasn’t there?_

_Maybe I didn’t think this out as well as I should have. I can practically hear Andromeda laughing at me. Calling me a fool._

_I already know, Andy, please be merciful._

_No matter. I think I’ll heed Titania’s suggestion. Perhaps make a game of it, for whoever reads this and deems it time._

_Yes, that sounds perfect! Andromeda loves games, as do I. Zamazenta as well. So does Zacian, although she’s rather shy about expressing it. She’s always so straitlaced, I think she might appreciate something like this too._

_It’s decided. A treasure hunt it will be, facilitated by the lucky soul awarded this responsibility. My heart’s already racing! Will it be I to uncover everything once again? My children? Their children? The children of others? Perhaps no children at all? A rogue commoner?_

_I hope it’s a rogue commoner. We plebeians have much to offer, damned be whatever those noble knaves say._

_Very well! Heed my first clever and amazing riddle, inheritor of fate and fury!_

_galar’s engine runs fast and fierce_

_search the king who’s blade doth pierce_

_A good one, yes? I’m proud! My literary prowess improves every day. I must practice so as to never forget. What a pain it was to learn in the first place._

* * *

‘ _You’re plenty good already_ ,’ Hop thinks, laughing under his breath. He can see why Andy would be so fond of Percival. Seems like he was a lively chap, full of energy.

“Who are Zacian and Zamazenta?” he asks. He doesn’t receive an answer, slumber having beaten him to the punch. Andy’s fleece rises and falls for every breath she takes, her hooves curled below where she rests upon a pillow. He pulls the covers over her small form, content to see her at peace.

Hop shuts the journal and places it on his nightstand, deciding to question her his next opportunity. For now, they all need sleep, himself included, so he lies down and makes himself comfortable, shifting Eltanin so he’s lying beside him. His Latios stirs slightly, sighing, before plastering himself against Hop’s torso. He’s big now, but that doesn’t stop Hop from treating him like nothing has changed, the way he wraps his arms around him no different than when he was a child.

Hop sighs, thoughts straying back to the riddle.

Galar’s engine. A king who’s blade pierces. His mind is already whirring, pinpointing the most probable location. Not too difficult to figure out. He hopes it remains that way. He doesn’t fancy endlessly wandering around Galar.

He wonders if Galar has changed sufficiently enough to warrant his search. Raihan believes so, and Hop likes to think they have, but that’s a rather subjective viewpoint to hold. People will always be cruel and greedy and entitled. It’s in their nature. Percival likely meant well in placing Andromeda’s protection above all else, but that in itself was a selfish act, something he was well aware of, apparently.

It’s complicated. A big mess, but most things are messy when they involve people and ideals and wants and needs. What’s important is learning and growing and being better.

If Hop can help himself, help _everyone_ , be better and _learn_ , there’s nothing to do but to get on it.

In the morning, he sends Victor a quick text, asking if he’s available later that week. They have an investigation to conduct, and their first lead at that.

By mid-afternoon, he receives a response.

**Victor**

[ sounds good prof 👌]

[ also ]

[ can we get souvenirs ]

[ sophie says galarian law requires everyone own a framed portrait of the queen ]

[ they sell those at gift shops right ??? ]

[ can’t afford to get arrested ]

**Hop**

[ we don’t have a queen? ]

**Victor**

[ wtf ]

[ i’m in tears rn ]

[ the fucking betrayal ]

Hop laughs, earning curious looks from the day’s teatime visitors, Grace and Jane and Alice, who he waves off with a simple explanation. It’s from his partner, he tells them, figuring it can’t hurt to be a little open about it. He’s very excited about the arrangement after all.

Grace laughs and calls him a scamp. Jane congratulates and offers her advice should he ever need it. Alice stuffs her face with sweets, asking if he can help her with a project due next week about Pokémon habitats, because she’s focusing on Noivern and there’s so much to cover with them.

Hop tilts his head at Grace and nods at Jane and promises Alice, greeting Phillip when he walks in with a question about his Zweilous, followed closely by Hannah, Marvin, and Kayleigh, who are arguing about whether sheer power or type-weaknesses reign supreme during battle, eager to know his opinion. Eltanin passes out tea and biscuits and Altais takes pictures to print out later and Andy watches from her perch at his desk, an unreadable expression on her face.

It’s all so very lively. Hammerlocke has indeed treated him well, blessing him with so many visitors and friends. So much warmth and kindness.

Hop’s not familiar with the Galar Percival laid witness to in his time. The Hammerlocke whichexisted prior to this one. He knows of cruelness and spite and of abuse and knows Andromeda likely suffered all three needlessly.

Hop also knows something else.

If these are the people who populate his city, his entire region, then perhaps it truly is time to bestow upon them knowledge of Galar’s greatest treasure and their ancestor’s roles in driving her away. Only then can they learn and heal and bridge the gap between past and present.

It’s time, he thinks.

It’s time, he hopes.

The anointed day arrives with little fanfare besides Hop’s own restless excitement.

Leon notices his jittering the moment he walks into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal, hiding his smile behind the tablet he’s reading the news from, as he does every morning.

“Looking wound up as a Ninjask there,” he jokes, arching an eyebrow. “Something fun planned today?”

“Investigation,” Hop replies enthusiastically, munching down on his breakfast with a fervor. “Gonna uncover a conspiracy. Top-secret stuff. Better not tell anyone.”

“These lips are sealed,” Leon zips them tight and tosses away the key. “Not that I’m doubting you, but that sounds kinda complicated. Gonna be okay on your own?”

“I’m getting help. From a friend.”

“Marnie?”

“No.”

“Bede?” Leon sounds incredulous. Hop holds back a laugh. Yeah, that’s not going to happen any time soon. Their last and only attempt at cooperation ended in a screaming match and nearly knocking each other’s teeth out. Never again.

“Someone else. A new friend.”

“A new friend?” Leon brightens at that. It’s a little embarrassing how he’s always praising him over milestones like that, getting all excited and whatnot. He means well, but all it does is make Hop feel like a little kid. “That’s great, Hoppip! I’m so proud of you! When did this happen?”

“Recently,” he bashfully tugs at his placemat. It’s a Deino. Leon says he looks like one when he wakes up. “He just moved here. He’s a ranger.”

“That’s ace. Reckon he’ll be helpful, then?”

“Already has been. He’s got his own work to worry about, but he’s been helping me on the side too. I’m real grateful.”

“Sounds like a decent guy,” Leon says, earning a pleased smile from Hop. “You should invite him over some time. I’d like to meet.”

“I’ll ask,” Hop fidgets in his seat, cheeks flushed pleasantly. He hasn’t outgrown it, seeking Leon’s approval. It feels silly to long for it, even after all this time of knowing he doesn’t need to, because Leon’s approval isn’t conditional. Isn’t something he’ll take back. Isn’t something he needs to _earn_. It’s hard to stop, even now, but he likes knowing when he has it, because he likes when Leon shares his feelings on anything. “I think you’ll get along. He’s shameless.”

“Not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“I meant it as one.”

“Then I’m sure we’ll get along,” Leon grins and Hop returns it, because Leon’s cheer is infectious even when it shouldn’t be. “Have fun, kiddo, and don’t stay out too late, ‘kay? Else the Drifloon’ll carry you off.”

“Are you calling me a child?”

“When have I _ever_ implied that?”

“I’m telling Scones you’re being mean to me.”

“Damn,” Leon playfully waves his fist at him. “You win this round, you well-rounded and not at all emotionally-stunted adult.”

“Finally, some respect around here,” Hop huffs, tipping his bowl to swallow the remaining milk. He wipes his mouth with a napkin before asking, “what’re you doing today?”

“Going on a date,” Leon winks, the band around his ring-finger shimmering beneath the kitchen lights. Against all odds and much to the collective relief of everyone everywhere, it’s not shaped like a Charizard.

What it _is_ , however, is a fully functional Keystone, equipped with a Charizardite Y gem, many thanks to Red over in Kanto for managing to find it _(champions and their ridiculous fortune hop still can’t believe he found the rarest mega stone in existence not even a week after being asked)_ at Leon’s request. He was the guest of honor at the wedding for a reason.

“Gonna hold his hand lots,” Leon adds. “He likes that.”

“Don’t forget to compliment his eyes.”

“Will do. Thanks for the reminder.”

“What else am I here for?” Hop sighs in a put-upon manner. “Where is he anyway?”

“Downstairs. Company came calling.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Don’t think so,” Leon idly fiddles with his ring, twisting it back and forth, thoughtful. “They were over the other day. Spoke with them in the conference room. They’re all right, I guess. Younger one’s style is a little odd, not that I’m one to judge.”

“I like your style.”

“Thanks, kiddo. I like yours too.”

Hop washes his dishes off in the sink and bids everyone farewell. Eltanin and Altais opt to stay behind, hoping to spend time with everyone after a hectic week at work, leaving Andy in his company.

_Your den-mates are very amusing._

“You think?” They step onto the elevator, their destination the lobby.

Andy nods, startling once they start moving. Technology’s still a little iffy for her.

_Yes. It is odd. I find it difficult to believe they all cohabitate the same space. They’re very different from one another._

“It gets a little dicey at times, but they compromise,” Fights are unavoidable, squabbles frequent. Still, they all try, which is what matters. “They care about each other.”

_I can tell. Mordred threatened me with bodily harm should I endanger any of your lives._

“She’s like that.”

Andy hums.

_I’ve never had much in the form of companions. I’ve spent the majority of my life in solitude._

“Really? But I thought you said Hammerlocke is your home?”

_Percival has always insisted on my calling it as such. In actuality, I was borne within the crest of the mountaintops, far beyond this city to the north. My abode was at the highest point. It is where I watched over Galar, both the Pokémon and the people. I watched them build this city and all the others, from their beginning foundations into what they are—were._

_The humans, I think they thought me a deity. They used to leave offerings at the base of my mountains. It always made me uncomfortable. I’m no such thing. I’m just a guardian. They were so afraid of earning my ire, but I never had any intention of hurting them. My domain was theirs to share. I never really minded, even if I found their behavior perplexing._

“It must have been difficult.”

_Yes. They were so afraid of me. So very afraid. Percival was the only one to ever scale my mountains. That’s how we met. He tells me he did it out of curiosity. He wasn’t afraid of me at all. He asked me all kinds of questions. If I had family, if I had friends, what I liked to do in my free time, if I preferred a warm or cold climate. He even asked what my name was. It had been so long since I thought of it, I almost believed I’d forgotten. He said he couldn’t hope to pronounce it, and asked if I didn’t mind a nickname. He called me Andromeda._

She falls silent, collecting her thoughts.

_…it had been so long since anyone called me anything._

“Percival must be very kind.”

_He is. I miss him dearly. I hope he is well._

“Me too,” Hop murmurs back, his heart shattering to pieces.

They arrive at the lobby in silence, Andy offering greetings to the dragons who mill about the premises, regarding her with awe and respect. According to her, they’ve recognized her guardianship over the lands, an innate reaction to her presence. When he asks why Arthur, Eltanin and the others have failed to do so, she laughs at him.

_Defer to me? And why would they do that, when they have already pledged fealty to another?_

“You mean Raihan?”

_Lulu, Hop. They pay him deference, not I._

“Oh,” That makes a lot of sense. Hop does that, and he’s not even a dragon. “In their defense, he’s a pretty great guardian.”

_Fear not. I am grateful for his dedication to his duties. His charms are undeniable. I find myself drawn to him, just as they are._

‘He’s got that effect,’ Hop plans on saying, stopping short when he spots three figures posted at the border of the castle’s gate and drawbridge; the guests Leon must have been talking about.

Raihan stands with his back to Hop, his posture its typical brand of lazy and hunched, one hand stuffed into the pocket of his joggers, the other gesturing in lethargic circles as he speaks in a measured tone. Hop can’t see much of the strangers from his angle, so he creeps closer, peeking around the tall dragon man to get a better look.

Listening attentively to Raihan is another tall man, although not as tall as Raihan, his stature matching Leon’s along with his apparent age. He’s dressed sharply in a neatly pressed burgundy blazer and slacks, his dress shirt a dark, inky color, the top buttons left undone. His hair has a purposely tussled appearance to it, short and flaxen, like spun silver where early afternoon sun rays reflect from it.

A classically handsome gentleman, one even Hop can’t help but admire, his cheeks warming at the stranger’s well put together appearance.

Beside him is a younger man, closer to Hop’s age. They must be brothers based on their shared features, similar in ways siblings usually are. He’s shorter, around Hop’s height give or take, and sports a suit of his own, bright blue and abrasive, meant to make a statement. He doesn’t appear to be paying attention to anything Raihan’s saying at all, tapping his foot impatiently, scrolling on his phone, mouth pursed into a dissatisfied scowl.

And his _hair—_

It’s not in Hop’s place to judge what is and is not stylish, how people should or should not dress themselves, but the sudden urge to apologize to Leon for every single snide comment he’s made about his messy mane grabs hold of him and refuses to let go.

His poor brother. Hop has wronged him. Terribly.

_Goodness, might he have met with a storm on his way here?_

“Maybe,” Hop blurts out, because telepathy is a pain and he is severely lacking in the art of subtlety. All eyes turn to him, and he feels like a right fool for it. With no other alternative left but to engage, he raises a hand and awkwardly waves. “Uh, hello. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” the man in red says, smiling and nearly burning Hop’s retinas to ash. Arceus, if there were ever a smile to compete with Leon’s million watt, it’s probably that one. “Is this your boy, Raihan? Spitting image of your husband, he is.”

“That’s him,” Raihan gestures him over. “His name’s Hop, our prof.”

“Ah, an admirable profession. Good to meet you. I am Shielbert. A pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Hop shakes his hand. “And, um…?”

“Sordward,” the young man beside him declares with a haughty flare, the pride in his posture excessively overdone. There’s some merit there. The confidence to hold himself like that is enviable. “The once and rightful heir to your abode.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play coy. It is unbefitting your station. Understand your days here are numbered, for I, Sordward, plan on assuming my rightful place among the denizens of Galar.”

“…right, well,” Hop focuses back on Shielbert. “are you a colleague of Raihan’s?”

“Something of the sort. We are collaborators.”

“He’s a high society fellow,” Raihan clarifies at Hop’s befuddled expression. Shielbert rolls his eyes at the label, although it is far from insulted, more amicable in nature. “Does a lot of historical digging and restoration.”

“A conservator by day, patron of the arts by night,” Shielbert elaborates further. “Hobbies really. It’s dreadfully dull up in Wyndon. Not much for culture, those bores.”

“They’re busy, I imagine,” Hop offers sympathetically. Too much hustle and bustle. Businesses to run and money to make and all that. “In that case, what brings you here?”

“An unrelated venture,” Shielbert says, his lips quirking. “Of the, shall we say, extraterrestrial variety.”

“Extraterrestrial?” Hop inclines his head. For a moment, he almost believes he’s speaking of Andy, but then his better judgement kicks in, and he recalls Andromeda hasn’t been awake in three-thousand years. How could he possibly know about her? “You mean the wishing stars?”

“What do you know of them?” Sordward charges back into the conversation, the prior dismissal of his declarations unimportant. “You wouldn’t happen to have them stashed away somewhere? Know that I lay claim to any and all specimens on these grounds. Thus are my rights.”

“I’m sure they are,” Hop responds, unable to keep the dry, skepticism from leaking into his tone. Suspicion soon follows. “Is there any particular reason you would need any?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“He studies Dynamax Theory,” Shielbert cheerfully provides, ignoring his brother’s affronted stammering. “An expert in the field. He’s always looking for samples to further his research. He wants to be just like Professor Magnolia.”

“ _Brother_.”

“That’s admirable,” Hop says with a smile. It truly is. How could he ever find fault with a mentality like that, when he dreams of the same? Albeit it through different means and fields of study. “I’m sure the Professor will be pleased with anything new you can discover. That would make her so happy. I wish you luck.”

His haughtiness seems insufficient to prepare him for Hop’s compliment, because Sordward stammers and reddens and huffs, his skin glowing a patchy red.

“Y-Yes, well, that goes without saying,” he stutters, shifting in place. “Should you come across anything pertinent to my interests, ensure you let me know.”

Not at all inclined to do anything of the sort, Hop replies, “of course.”

They head off shortly after that, bidding both he and Raihan goodbye.

“What was that about?” Hop asks once they disappear down the road, Sordward chattering a mile a minute while Shielbert listens indulgently, nodding along with the amused cadence only an elder sibling could possess.

“Little guy threw down the gauntlet,” Raihan tells him, his amusement evident. “He’s planning a coup.”

“Isn’t that concerning?”

“Nah, he’s harmless. Just very passionate about his family history.”

“Which is?”

“You tell me,” Raihan raises an eyebrow. “Have you been skimping on your readings?”

“What? You’re saying he’s—really?”

“Yep,” Raihan shrugs. “Supposedly. Shielbert says they can trace their lineage all the way back. Doesn’t really care much for it though.”

“And his brother?”

“Not sure. He’s got his own feelings on it, I reckon.”

“His attitude speaks volumes.”

“We’ve all got our reasons for being,” Raihan chides. “Everyone’s got it rough. Doesn’t justify our actions, but it’s worth considering.”

He heads back up after that, leaving Hop and Andy to continue onward with their journey to the train station.

Andy, who was oddly reserved throughout that entire exchange.

“Is something wrong?”

_Why do you ask?_

“You were very quiet back there.”

_There is nothing wrong. That boy…he simply reminded me of someone._

Strangely enough, Hop gets the same feeling, although he isn’t sure it’s for the same reasons.

They make it to the station with time to spare, despite the hold up.

Victor’s already waiting for them. If Hop has a particularly easy time spotting him even amongst the deluge of people weaving in and out of the terminal, Andy fails to comment on it, keeping close and scowling whenever anyone wanders too close for comfort.

“Place is as bad as Nimbasa,” Victor says upon their arrival, scowling when his shoulder is jostled by a passerby.

“I like your cap,” Hop replies, because what else can be expected of him.

“Thanks,” That seems to perk Victor right up. “Got it at a thrift store in Castelia.”

“It looks nice on you.”

“Whoa. Easy there, champ. Buy a guy a ticket first.”

Hop doesn’t have to do that because he bought them ahead of time. Victor praises him for it, which gets him all bashful and shy and bumping into sliding doors while they’re boarding.

Andy scoffs at his behavior.

_So easily pleased._

“Nothing wrong with that,” Hop settles in across from Victor, tucking Andy beside him. She hunches into a ball, distrustful of the mechanical contraption she’s been obligated to utilize. “Have you had the opportunity to explore yet?”

“Not really,” Victor sinks into the cushions with a sigh. Cinder plasters her face and claws against the window, squeaking happily when the train starts moving, scenery zipping past them in a flash. “Been workin’ this entire time. Sophie offered, but I feel like she’d drag me around the entire region kickin’ and screamin’ all at once. Rather take things slow, y’know?”

“At your own pace.”

“Not really in the business of doin’ otherwise,” he sighs. “Sorry, Professor. There’s just no changin’ me. Best get that cleared up before we jump into this.”

“I think that’s good,” Hop replies gravely. “Sometimes I misunderstand because my perspective is lacking. This may be difficult to believe, but relatively speaking, I’m actually very sheltered.”

“Couldn’t tell.”

“I hide it very well,” Hop smiles knowingly. “You’re very different from me. I think that’s important.”

“Sounds cold when you put it that way.”

“Should I rephrase?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not like others,” Hop attempts, the words still not sitting how he wants them to. “Sorry. That’s not it either.”

“Ain’t no rush, king.”

Hop thinks, trying his best to formulate what it is he’s actually attempting to get across. This isn’t usually so difficult. Even when he was especially bad at it, he didn’t struggle this much.

It seems like Victor is the exception to every interaction he’s ever had.

How fitting.

“I’d like to get to know you better,” he speaks slowly, savoring every syllable. "You’re fascinating. Sorry if this sounds weird but…you’re like a flower.”

“A flower?” Victor blinks, taken aback by the comparison. “Sorry, chief, not following you here. Never heard that one before. In what way?”

“Dunno,” Hop shrugs, chagrined. If he knew, he’d probably be a lot more eloquent with his phrasing. “You just are. It’s nice.”

“Might wanna get back to me on that.”

“Okay. I’ll try to give you a better answer next time.”

“That one was pretty all right.”

“I can do better.”

Victor smiles at that and Hop returns it and Andy sighs, but she does that a lot he’s realizing, so he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

The train-ride proceeds relatively uneventfully, with Andy clinging to Hop’s trouser leg for every abrupt shake and shutter of the vehicle. Cinder seems not to have any issues with it at all, something Victor attributes to their familiarity with the Unovan subway lines.

“They’re fuckin’ nuts,” he tells Hop as they disembark, having arrived at their destination.

Motostoke, the so-called steam engine of Galar.

 _Bit on the nose there, Percival_ , Hop thinks to himself with a twinge of amusement.

“It was chaos, dude,” Victor tacks on. “People battling everywhere,

“Did you ever participate?”

“Sure did. Late night’s when shit gets real. Great way to scrape together some cash. Dilly’s cute, but she’s tough too. No gettin’ past her.”

“I can imagine,” Hop laughs at how Cinder holds her claws to her cheeks, flattered by the praise. “Do you like to battle?”

“I like kickin’ ass and making money, but I wouldn’t call that enjoyment. Not really conducive to my intentions.”

“Which are?”

“‘mons. Protecting ‘em. Takin’ care of ‘em,” Victor’s gaze grows distant. “Figure you don’t need to me to tell you this, but people can be real fucked up. Treat them like shit. Doesn’t matter where you go, there’s always some stupid fucker thinking they’re above ‘em. That they got the right to push ‘em to the brink.”

“I guess that’s one thing the world has in common,” Hop replies sadly. Of all the commonalities to share, why is that one the most prevalent?

“Shit’s rough everywhere,” Victor shrugs. “Everyone’s fighting their own battles. Thought I may as well take up this one. Don’t got much else to offer.”

“Not even your delightful personality?”

“Ah, man, Professor, you’re really doing me in here,” Victor laughs, his face tinging just the slightest bit of pink. Hop assumes he’s succeeded in lightening the mood. Hopefully. “You talk to all the boys like this?”

“Other boys don’t really interest me,” Hop admits without placing too much thought into what he’s saying. He regrets it almost instantly, because Victor gets even redder and Andy starts cackling and he feels like an idiot out of his depth because he has no idea what he’s doing. “Uh, I mean that specifically. Not generally. Boys are good in general, but, I, uh, y’know. No one. In specific. Yet. I mean that in a good way. Towards you.”

“Sure, sure. Yeah, uh, let’s just—” Victor gestures frantically to the road in front of them, pointedly looking away, shielding the side of his face with one hand. Hop doesn’t see the point, but maybe he just isn’t keen on looking embarrassed in front of anyone. Understandable, considering all he wants to do right now is sink into the ground and never see the light of day again. “—go. And, like, _go_. Y’know?”

“Yes.”

_Titania was right. Young adults are the saddest creatures alive._

Hop ignores that statement. He can’t exactly argue with Andy when she’s absolutely correct now, can he?

Thankfully, the awkward atmosphere doesn’t last too long. Once Victor feels capable of looking at him again and Cinder has successfully steered their attention onto her cute antics, it’s relatively simple to fall back into step and back on track with the purpose for their visit.

Hop doesn’t know exactly what they’re looking for, but he has an inkling of where to find it. Steam was a dead ringer, and there’s really only one place where there’s a blade that can pierce.

A straight shot into Motostoke’s botanical gardens, standing tall and proud at the center of an elaborate fountain, elegant rings of water spouting from Milotic painstakingly sculpted of pristine stone, is a fixture often regarded with awe, intrigue, and confusion, primarily because their identity is unknown and has been for centuries.

The city is kind enough to maintain them but, admittedly, it’s pretty funny.

_What a pathetic sword and shield. Perfect for a nameless charlatan._

“They _are_ a little lackluster,” Hop agrees. All grey and made of stone. Not weapons he would normally associate with a mysterious, legendary hero.

 _An understatement. If you could lay eyes on Percival’s hounds, you would understand. Their steel is unparalleled. And their_ **_jewels_** _! They shine so brightly! Even Titania can hardly bring herself to maintain them. She fears tarnishing their beauty._

“His hounds?”

_Yes. Percival’s companions. I care for them greatly. They are kind. And strong! Why, they’ve even managed to best me in combat from time to time. Not often, mind you, but enough to prove their fortitude._

‘Zacian and Zamazenta,’ Hop thinks, tucking that conversation away for later. Instead, he turns to Victor at the sound of his whistle.

“Ain’t he a looker,” Victor raises an arm, allowing Cinder to drift off and amuse herself with the water sprays. “Not that this isn’t a fascinating historical site, but what exactly are we doing here?”

“There was a development.”

“Another one?”

“Yes. It’s critical to our investigation.”

“You’ve sure got a knack for coming up on those,” Victor raises an eyebrow. “I’m not gonna tag along on this whole thing just to find out _you_ were the secret mastermind pullin’ all the strings, am I? Because just so you know, I don’t mind joining the dark-side. I’m all for being an evil badass and, like, taking over the universe with you. You won’t go wrong with makin’ me your right-hand, all right? Keep that in mind.”

“Provide me with a résumé and I’ll consider your options,” Hop remarks dryly. “As it happens, the plan’s taken on a wider scope. I’ll spare you the details and say the goal is to uncover what they don’t write in the history books here—”

_And finding Percival._

“—and helping Andy find her friend,” Hop tacks on. Andy nods approvingly. “Luckily, I happened to—“

“—you _just so happened_ _to_ —“

“— _yes_ , Victor, I am very fortunate to have sources,” Hop huffs at his incredulity. “I happened to receive something that will help us. It’s really ancient and old.”

“So definitely useful,” Victor nods. “All right, whatever. Don’t really care how we get this done so long as we _get it done_. What’re we looking at here?”

Hop unzips his bag and pulls out the journal, flipping to the page where the clue lies. He gives a bit of context, summarizing what he’s learned before reading it out to Victor. “What do you think?”

“Sounds like the dude really wants us to find his junk.”

“He was hoping we would. I think it pained him,” It had to, hiding the existence of a dear friend purposely, fearing she might be hurt if he didn’t. “Any ideas?”

Victor contemplates the journal silently.

Then, he walks away, circling the fountain, casually stopping to observe it from various angles. He runs a hand through the water, stops to take a picture of Cinder posing beside the ancient warrior before finally returning to Hop’s side.

“C’mon,” he beckons, walking away, Cinder following closely behind.

“Where are we going?” Hop questions, catching up.

“Souvenirs. I was serious about those.”

“But what about the investigation?”

“We’re keeping things confidential aren’t we?” Victor juts his shoulder back, where visitors crowd the area, milling about, enjoying the blissfully sunny day. “Too many witnesses. Can’t go poking around without calling attention to ourselves.”

“Oh,” Hop hadn’t thought of that. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Souvenirs,” Victor repeats, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “Then we wait. Didn’t spot any cameras or security ‘round the place, so once it gets dark, we get our hands dirty and snoop around. See what we can find. If there’s nothing, we regroup and figure something else out.”

“You’re good at this,” Hop comments, his heart-rate picking up. He feels all tingly and warm, Victor’s display of competence doing…something to him. “Like a real detective.”

“Nah, I ain’t that good,” Victor laughs. “Have some practice is all.”

“Investigating?”

“Well, yeah, but…” he trails off, his sheepish smile charming in how mischievous it comes across. “Let’s just say I’m real experienced with this sorta thing. On _both_ sides.”

Hop blinks.

“Oh.”

“That a problem?”

“Not really,” Hop inclines his head, pursing his lips. “It’s just…how late do you reckon we should wait? Wouldn’t want to miss the last train.”

Victor laughs again.

“You’re fucking _trouble_ , you know that, Professor?”

They’re out pretty late.

They get all those souvenirs Victor’s been so insistent on purchasing, including silly tourist t-shirts and keychains that have Hop recalling a time when he and Leon went on a similar adventure years ago.

As it turns out, Victor is gauche enough to haggle down prices, whatever magic lies within his words convincing many-a-charmed shop owner into letting him have his way.

“I feel so Galarian right now,” Victor gleefully informs him, decked out in obnoxiously large sunglasses, an Escavalier shaped cap and, much to Hop’s abject horror, a t-shirt with _his brother’s face on it._

“This dude the champion?” Victor had asked, eyeing it with thinly veiled distaste as he considered it against one with a tastefully stylized Centiskorch.

“Former,” Hop had choked out, unwilling to share more. It’s not like he was embarrassed but…maybe he was. Just a little. He doesn’t know why Leon still commissions things like this. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe it’s unauthorized. _Still_. “H-He’s, ah, still pretty popular, all things considered. Galar loves him.”

“Huh. Must be some guy,” Victor gestures at the other novelty goods with Hop’s brother’s stern expression on them. He would laugh if he wasn’t mortified. “S’this like a right of passage? Owning something with him on it?”

“You can say that.”

“Fuck it then.”

And then Victor bought it and Hop couldn’t bring himself to say anything and that had been the end of that.

After that ill-conceived shopping spree, they skulk around the city, stopping to have lunch and even dinner once the hour runs past sunset. Cinder gorges on everything and anything she can get Victor to buy for her.

Hop can’t resist the warm feelings that envelop him observing the loving affection Victor bestows upon his partner; how she returns it with earnest, so trusting and fond.

_He’s peculiar._

“He is,” Hop replies softly, so as to not be heard. “Fascinating.”

_So you’ve said._

“Don’t be mean to me, Andromeda.”

Andy stretches across her chair so she’s partially lying on his lap. Hop sets a hand on her head, brushing it gently. He’s noticed she occasionally reaches out for affection like this. Perhaps all that time spent alone has driven her to seek it. He isn’t her preferred company, but he’s more than willing to fill the role whenever she’s feeling particularly blue.

_Percival is the same. He is untamed, un-beholden to anyone’s will. He cares little for anything not of his interests and yet…he has always been so kind. With those he cherishes, he is capable of great compassion and generosity. With Titania. His hounds. And…even myself. I often thought, perhaps humanity is not a scourge upon this Earth if it could be blessed with his existence._

“A shame not all of us can be as wonderful as him.”

_Not all of you, no. Some of you, yes._

She falls silent after that. Hop keeps her close, holding her even afterwards, when they’ve returned to the botanical garden under the cover of night. They climb the chained gates, reaching the other side with minimal fuss.

“Dextrous,” Victor remarks, his cheeky grin barely visible within the darkness.

The fountain is as they left it, the water still now that its jets are powered off.

Victor folds his jeans up to his knees, kicks off his high-tops and stuffs his socks into them. Carefully, he sifts through the water, poking around the fountain floor, tugging at anything that looks particularly noteworthy or suspiciously out of place. Hop does his best to suggest possible solutions, but after fruitless attempt after fruitless attempt, options begin to look slim.

It isn’t until Victor kicks the warrior in a fit of petulant frustration that they get anywhere, the bottom of his sole catching on their winged boot, the strength behind the jab enough to minutely nudge it aside.

Without hesitation, Hop divests himself of his shoes and socks and tiptoes into the freezing water. He bares with it, biting his tongue against the frosty chill. Flexing his fingers first, he shoves the opposite side’s boot forward while Victor does the same on his end.

The piercing sound of rusted rails grate against their ears. Then, a mechanism clinks and lo-and-behold, they find an ornate chest tucked beneath the warrior’s base; inside, a trove of weathered documents and bejeweled chalices and bowls, engraved with depictions of what cannot be anything besides a dragon.

Andy is very pleased when Hop shows them off to her.

_That’s me! When the humans would leave offerings, they often provided them in dishes such as these. A show of deference, I suppose. They thought I wouldn’t accept them otherwise. Ironic, isn’t it? I preferred the artistry, not the contents within. They sparkle so beautifully, a perfect addition to my hoards!_

A perfect addition indeed.

“Well damn,” Victor says, once they’ve covered their tracks and are boarding last train back to Hammerlocke. Contrary to Hop’s initial concerns, the late hour actually benefits them, barely a soul around to question the dirty and dingy treasure chest he and Victor are casually hauling along. Hop can only imagine the fit Raihan’s going to have once he sets eyes on it. “That worked out pretty spectacularly.”

“Luckily,” With any hope, the rest of their search would proceed similarly. “Thanks for helping. I really appreciate it.”

“Wasn’t any trouble. I had fun. Good company n’all.”

“You too. Good company. You are.”

“You’re killin’ me here, Prof,” Victor sighs, sinking into his seat. His eyes flutter shut. “M’not really used to this.”

“I’m sorry,” Hop quickly apologizes, cursing his over-exuberance. He’s being too much. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Opposite.”

“Bad?”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll get attached,” Victor smiles mirthlessly. “And good things, they don’t usually last.”

“I will.”

“That’s a heavy proposition you’re making there, chief.”

“I don’t care,” Hop says without hesitation. He’s had enough of fearing what won’t last. He’s tired of it. “That’s how everything is. It all ends, it’s all forgotten, and everyone leaves. I hate that, so I won’t do it. I won’t ask anyone to stay, but I’m not ever going to leave.”

“You’re making promises you can’t keep.”

“You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Plenty of reason to be,” Victor looks at him. “But fine. I’ll bite. Minute you fumble, I’m outta here.”

“You won’t leave. You aren’t the type to do that.”

“Yeah? Because you know my type?”

“Of course,” Hop smiles. “You fancy yourself a coward, but that isn’t the truth, because you wouldn’t bother with any of this if you were.”

“Got me all figured out, huh,” Victor murmurs, chuckling to himself. “All right, okay. We’ll see where this goes. Fair warning, I’m a fierce fuckin’ wrangle.”

“I’ve spent every summer for the past decade deep-sea fishing. I think I know what I’m doing.”

Victor bursts into unconstrained laughter at that, Cinder following suit, if only because she’s eager to share in his glee.

Andy sighs.

_You presume much of others, Hop. Do you not fear being burned yourself?_

“Not really,” It’s happened before. It’ll happen again. That’s the nature of living; of allowing oneself to live. Hop’s lost much, yes, but he’s learned living in fear isn’t worth the pain of isolation and self-doubt.

He likes having company, likes having others around him. If they leave, he’ll be the first to wish them well. If they stay, then all the more reason to keep them close.

There is no cowardice in trust, and there is no trust in cowardice. If Hop expects others to place their faith in him, he will dutifully do the same, whatever the outcome.

If he’s burned, if he’s hurt, if he’s shattered, it doesn’t matter.

All he has to do is piece himself back together again, not at all a daunting task when he’s done it before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, canonically, Sordward is the older sibling and Shielbert is the younger, but I switched it around and regressed Sordward to Hop’s age for plot reasons.  
> Character parallels are so nice 👌👌👌
> 
> Also, I know the hero statue is supposed to be inside the Budew Drop Inn, but I found it kinda silly that it would be there in the first place. Maybe the inn is historical, but since we don't get much in the way of backstory for it, I decided to put it in a public park area where people can visit and admire it. Doesn't make much of a difference either way but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	7. beyond these waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another day, another occasion spent with a baffling professor.

_Seek yourself three standing stones, with Grass before the other ones. Use that strength, and find then the strength of its strength in the end. Dally not, if you’ve a mind to find what time has left behind._

_This one’s great, isn’t it? One of Titania’s talents. She’s well-versed in riddles and circular conversation. I’ve only just been instated as lord of this kingdom and yet, the amount of times her silver tongue has aided me in twisting and warping the words of the court in our favor are innumerable. My rage often overcomes my reason, especially when it comes to dealing with those noble dunces. Were it not for her steady hand, I would have nothing to offer except profanities._

_Titania never uses profane language. I fear if she did, the world would implode in on itself, incapable of handling this new development without needing to tear itself apart and piece itself back together._

_Such an unlikely possibility, and yet, now I am tempted to coax such foul language from her lovely lips. How funny would that be? I’m laughing just thinking about it._

_That’s it, I must hear it for myself. I am decided. Nothing will change my mind!_

_Zacian tells me I will perish in the process. To not goad our goddess of victory._

_She is probably right._

_It matters not._

_I will do so anyway and lament the consequences at a later date. Such is the code myself and Zamazenta abide by. We fear nothing._

_No wonder Andromeda called us fools._

_This is why Titania is her favorite. Intelligent and measured and never once phased by the obstacles before her._

_I suggested the idea once. Abdicating my position to her. All I accomplished was dousing her spirits._

_Galar would not accept her leadership, she told me. Not one of her kind._

_Not one who hails from the Forest of Fae._

_Pity for them._

_What a queen she would make._

* * *

“Fuck ‘em,” Victor’s vehement swear echoes up and down a lone Route Three, curious Pokémon alike turning their heads at his colorful use of language. “How dare they disrespect our queen like that?”

Hop sighs, slipping the journal back into his bag. He’d thought the same when he first read the entry. The fae have always carried a reputation of sorts; one of wily tricksters and deceitful, wicked souls, intent on causing pain for the sake of it.

Calling them mischievous and cunning is an understatement, their intelligence a beat above the rest, but they are hardly evil specters hellbent on the destruction of humanity. Like many living creatures, they rely on their instincts for survival; to protect their own and live in peace.

No different to dragons, the fae have fallen victim to misplaced resentment and persecution, accused of no shortage of atrocities and disasters throughout the centuries, without a shred of evidence to corroborate any of it.

Attitudes have certainly shifted, their popularity having seen a meteoric rise as of recent times, but Hop can only assume the reasons they hardly ever stray from Ballonlea and Glimwood Tangle are deep-rooted and unlikely to change.

_I’ve always been fond of the fae. They would visit my mountain on the occasion, seeking conversation. Perhaps they believed us kindred spirits. I couldn’t keep up with their chatter very well, but I always enjoyed their cheer._

“I’m sure they made for lively company.”

_Oh, certainly. Never a dull moment with them. I looked forward to their visits. Sometimes, they would bring riches along. Jewels. I think they were stolen._

“From people?”

_From my kin. Their fear of the fae is laughable. They don’t bother defending their hoards, and give up their treasures willingly in an attempt to assuage them. It’s such a waste. What use do the fae have for jewels?_

“I could argue the same for dragons.”

 _Insolent_ **_human_ ** _._ _How_ **_dare_ ** _you_ **_?_ **

Hop laughs at Andy’s huffing and puffing, how she bunts into his ankles in an attempt at comeuppance. The dichotomy between her booming, regal voice and tiny Wooloo body will never get old.

“Where exactly are we headed today, chief?” Victor asks, arms folded behind his head. Eltanin’s hovering at his side, awestruck, gazing at him like he’s hung the sun, moon and stars. Hop thinks it has to do with his cap. It’s red and has a pair of white wings jutting out from either side, reminiscent of a Latias.

“We’re bound for Turffield. It’s a farming town. Out of the way. Very small and rural.”

“Relevant to our case?”

“Of course. Why else would we be going?”

“Dunno. Thought you might’ve been lookin’ to enjoy my company in the wheat fields. Thought you might be too shy to say it.”

“I wouldn’t waste my time like that,” Hop replies, adjusting the carrier on his back, where Altais is comfortably strapped in, chatting with Cinder, who’s keeping up at a sedate pace. “I’ve already said I like being around you. That should be a given when I invite you anywhere.”

“You hearin’ this guy, Baby Blue?” Victor directs the question at Eltanin, confounded. “Your pa’s a menace.”

Eltanin nods solemnly, entirely in agreement with the recent object of his affections. Hop doesn’t feel any type of way about it. No sirree.

_I also agree. Your lack of awareness is appalling._

“Andy’s agreeing, right? She’s on my side, yeah?” Victor inquires, grinning when she confirms this with a wing flap. “Attagirl. You only stand by the _righteous_.”

_That’s true! I do. Tell him it is so, human._

Hop doesn’t see it fit to deign that exchange with anything more than an eye-roll.

Rather, he picks up his pace and overtakes the lead, Victor and the rest of their group following dutifully behind. Cinder stops occasionally to poke around any berry trees she spots, turning them over in her claws, stuffing the ones she deems adequate into the small pouch she’s carrying around.

“It’s a thing in Unova,” Victor explains at one point. “Rangers hand ‘em out like candy. Supposed to encourage the public to plant ‘em.”

“That’s nice,” Hop accepts one from the Victini with thanks. “I’ll plant this when I get back to the lab. I’m actually setting up a greenhouse in the yard. This’ll be the first maybe.”

“S’that what you were up to when we met?”

“I was,” Hop admits, embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

“No judgement here,” Victor replies, nudging his arm. “If you need help, feel free to call me in. Don’t got a green thumb or anything, but I’m good at lugging stuff around. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself or nothin’.”

Hop quirks a brow at the gruff, boyish nature of the proposition, Victor not quite looking him in the eye as he offers. A courteous suggestion, yes, however unnecessary the concern over his constitution is. Still, he cannot help but respond to the clumsy gesture in kind.

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Eventually, their peaceful trek through the grassy and rocky Route Three leads them towards the mine. It’s a place Hop can’t say he’s entirely familiar with, but he’s visited and investigated its Pokémon enough times to be reasonably confident with navigating the deep, dark cavernous tunnels.

“Sure is dark,” Victor’s voice reverberates against the walls. “I’ve got two free hands here in case you need ‘em, Professor.”

“Think I’ll be fine,” Hop replies wryly, setting Altais onto the floor. “Would you mind lighting the way, Allie? We’d really appreciate it.”

Altais nods, helpful and accommodating as always, the bulb at the end of her tail crackling and bursting with electricity from within. She takes point, guiding their way with an efficacy expected of her reliable nature.

Hop takes note of their surroundings, jotting down any particular details he feels he should share with Sonia, all the while surprised by Victor’s rapid-fire naming and descriptions of the variety of ores and stones imbedded into the walls, naming their levels and apparent mineral composition.

“You seem to know a lot about mining,” Hop comments after Victor’s gone off onto another tangent about the compositional integrity of moon stones.

“Used to work in one of these. Driftveil.”

“Are you interested in mining?”

“I was interested in money,” Victor spares him a pointed look. “Folks don’t always do things because they’re fun, chief.”

“Sorry,” Hop winces at his presumptuousness. He’s so great at this not sounding like a total tool thing. “Of course they don’t. Shouldn’t have assumed.”

“You’re fine,” Victor shrugs. “Sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do."

The following stretch of their journey is spent in silence. Not necessarily awkward but not entirely comfortable. Victor doesn’t appear to be in any mood to talk thanks to him, so Hop amuses himself with his notes, watching after Eltanin’s wings so they don’t knock into the rough walls and ensuring Andy doesn’t wander off because she wants to collect a few pretty ores for herself.

They’re coming up upon the exit, bright daylight pouring in from Route Four, when they nearly run into someone heading in the opposite direction. Hop would say he’s shocked into silence at the sight of them, but he isn’t, because sometimes, he can be expected to make the correct conversational choices.

“G’day, Sordward. What a surprise to see you here.”

“A pleasant one for you, I imagine,” Sordward replies, dusting off his suit. It’s ruffled and mussed and stained with dirt all over. A surprise for sure. Hop would expect someone so prim and proper to fret over something like that. “I would ask what you’re doing here, but I don’t care much for the answer.”

“We’re bound for Turffield,” Hop replies anyway, smiling at the way Sordward’s face pinches up. “We’re going to sight-see. Is that your partner behind you? She’s lovely.”

“Of course she is,” the veneer of arrogance drops, replaced instead by pride and overt affection. The Golisopod behind Sordward waves one of her large claws, her mandibles twitching. “My companion is unmatched in beauty, grace, and intelligence. That she’s capable of aiding me in my pursuit for Wishing Stars is to be expected.”

“I’m sure,” Wishing stars, huh? Nothing Hop didn’t know before, but interesting that he’s actively scavenging for them. Looks like Hammerlocke isn’t the only area of interest. “I assume her help is indispensable when it comes to your studies. Dynamax Theory can be so dense. The stars are so difficult to break down.”

 _My scales_ **_are_ ** _sturdy and tough._

“Nothing we cannot handle. Our teamwork is unparalleled,” Sordward’s proclaims arrogantly, his Golisopod observing him with no shortage of exasperation and fondness. Ah, so they’re very close. That’s nice, Hop thinks. Pokémon don’t hand out their friendship willy-nilly like that. “They’re hardly any trouble underneath our critical scope. That isn’t the trouble with them, not at all.”

“Oh?”

“Collecting them. Harnessing their energy. Getting them to—“ Abruptly, Sordward cuts himself off, as though he’s said too much. He definitely has, because now Hop’s curious and suspicious, a terrifying combination. “There are complications in many areas, to say the least. I don’t imagine you would understand.”

“Probably not.”

“Admitting to your own ignorance is gauche.”

“I wonder who led you to believe that.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sordward’s countenance darkness briefly, a second upon a second, before he shakes it off. His gaze easily glazes past Victor, disinterested, before landing upon Andy at his feet. “What on Earth is _that_?”

“A Wooloo. They’re native to Galar. Common in rural areas. They graze the land and—“

“I know what a Wooloo is,” Sordward snaps. “That looks nothing like one.”

Huh, keen eye. Hop should be more careful around this guy. “You should broaden your horizons to what Pokémon can be. What they’re capable of. I mean, I could say you wouldn’t understand, but I don’t think that’s true in the slightest.”

“You’d be right.”

“I thought so,” Hop frowns. “You should take care not to involve yourself in things beyond your understanding.”

“And you should tone down that high-and-mighty attitude,” Sordward sneers. “Honestly, I don’t understand why Brother is wasting his time with your lot. You’re all disgustingly condescending.”

“Wasting his time? Is he?”

“Of course he is. Lending that giant his services just because he’s fond. Ridiculous.”

Ah. Another thing to ask Raihan about later. For now, Hop smiles. “Nothing wrong with lending a friend a helping hand. The offer extends to you, in case you’d like to take it.”

“No, thanks. I’d rather not have a busybody leeching onto me, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong,” Sordward scoffs. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He walks off, further into the tunnel, his Golisopod following behind. Not before offering them an apologetic nod, a gesture Hop returns in kind. Such a cute Pokémon. She must have her reasons for sticking by a prickly sort like her trainer.

_What a sad child._

“Don’t be rude, Andy.”

_I mean it in no such way._

Hop glances at her, finds her gaze locked down the tunnel.

Hm.

“Guess we should get going too,” Hop says after a moment, turning to gauge Victor’s response. “What do you think?”

“I’m thinkin’ you really _are_ a menace,” Victor laughs, not at all perturbed by how blatantly and rudely he was ignored. “Can’t leave well enough alone, can ya?”

“I’m a busybody, remember?”

The group continues onward.

Past Route Four, where Victor gets distracted by wheat and grain and various Pokémon, declaring himself Team Eevee and further endearing himself to Hop, they finally make it to Turffield, where Hop leads them towards one of its more recognizable landmarks.

Victor makes a beeline towards the cardboard cutout meant for tourists.

“I don’t know what the fuck either of these are, but pick one, Prof,” Victor says, rounding the photo spot. “We’re taking tacky tourists photos whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not looking like a Greedent.”

“Which one’s that?”

“The rodent,” Hop grimaces, memories of wily menaces in his mother’s berry bushes and flower plots too vivid, too _grotesque_ , to recall. If there’s a Pokémon he doesn’t think he’ll ever grow fond of, it’s them. “I’m not associating with them.”

“Damn, even your elitism is cute,” Victor’s head appears above the rodent wretch’s body. He smiles at the child watching him off to the side, hiding giggles behind their hands. “In that case, you’re the stone-man.”

“Stonjourner.”

“Bless you.”

After that’s over and done with, Victor satisfied with the shots, he shifts his attention to the town’s real attraction while their Pokémon amuse themselves with the cut-out, Cinder sending it flying halfway down the dirt road, giving chase with the others. Hop’s probably going to have to pay for that.

“Thinkin’ there’s some treasure here?”

“No, I just thought you might appreciate the view,” Hop points to the large geoglyph stretching out beyond the grassy fields. “It’s theorized to be the depiction of a Gigantamax Toxtricity.”

“Show me?”

Hop does, handing Victor his Pokédex.

“Huh,” he squints, comparing the image with the sight before them. “I’d say that’s right on. Uncanny even. Think they got up to recreationally super-sizing their ‘mons back in the day too?”

“It’s thought to have been a more natural phenomenon. Unintentional and involuntary.”

_It was not._

Hop glances at Andy. She’s staring out at the field, frowning.

_The humans would hunt them. Pillage their lands. Their defenses were not sufficient. They needed a way to protect themselves without altering their ways of life. That I could provide such a solution is my duty as their caretaker._

“…scare them off with the illusion of size.”

_Yes, I could not change them. Instead, I shifted the nature of perception. One of the many facets of my abilities._

“Bending the appearance of reality to your will,” Hop recites, slowly. That’s definitely going into his report. To think, such great power comes from such a tiny Wooloo.

_You forget this form is temporary._

“Maybe not entirely. I’ve been thinking your heart must be shaped like a Wooloo.”

_What prompts this thought?_

“Spiritually, I've noticed, you’re very fluffy.”

_I have arrived at a realization. You are very strange._

“Maybe,” Hop huffs out a laugh, turning to Victor. “I’ve got a hypothesis about the location. Humor me?”

“What else am I here for, chief?”

Turns out, it’s not too difficult to figure out.

It’s all a matter of wandering around, observing the stone slabs scattered all over Turffield, and inferring the correct order. Trial and error. Hop can’t tell if there was any foresight placed into the correct combination. Percival didn’t seem like the type of person to plan everything out to the tiniest detail, no matter the inconveniences it may have caused others.

That’s the feeling he gets when they dig up yet another chest, not as elaborate but equally as historical looking, from the depths of a particularly obvious stone fixture, engraved with images of claws and maws and wings.

_Short-sighted is the term I would use. He always acts before he thinks and comes to regret it later._

“I can’t say I’m all that different.”

Andy hums.

_A trait many humans share. I don’t mind it. It’s interesting to watch you drag yourselves out from the ditches you dig for yourselves. It is the same with him. Percival would not be Percival if he made no errors and did not beg for help after the fact. He’s…a little useless, I suppose. Titania says it’s part of his charm. I think I agree._

“Do you think they do too?” Hop questions further, curious. “His hounds?”

_Of course not. They are no better than he is. Zamazenta behaves like a pup in all matters save for battle. Zacian is similar, although she denies it every opportunity she has. Those three…they’re all so very hopeless. A disastrous combination._

“But that’s their charm.”

_Aye. It is. I assume it is no different for you. Those closest to you, they may cause you stress and earn your ire on the occasion, but there is nowhere you would rather be than at their side. Is that not so?_

“It is very much so,” Hop agrees, watching Victor bash the trove’s lock in with a plank of wood he tore off a nearby fence, grunting with the effort it takes until he loses all semblance of patience and requests Cinder singe it off. She does, melting the mechanism, leaving them back at square one.

“Fuck it,” Victor says after he’s done swearing, kicking it with all his might.

It cracks and falls apart and that’s how Hop finds himself stuffing over three-millennia old relics into his ratty Pretty Guardian pin sporting backpack with the busted zipper, all while Victor keeps watch, feeling no better than a common criminal even though, really, he’s doing Galar a service.

“We’re pretty good at this teamwork thing. I’m thinking we should consider high-profile heists. Boys back home used to say I had Zebstrika fingers. Could snatch any…” Victor trails off at Hop’s furrowed brow. “…uh, well, I’ve got nimble fingers is all.”

“I’m sure,” Hop replies idly, wondering but not asking, because Victor seems skittish all of a sudden and the last thing he wants is for him to clam up. “It’s still early. What do you think about heading over to Hulbury?”

“That on the checklist?”

“No,” Hop shrugs his shoulders. “It’s a beautiful place. Nearby. I thought you might like visiting.”

“Proper tour, eh?”

“Not necessarily,” Hop straightens up, dusting off his knees. “I just thought it’d be fun to go with you.”

“Family day-trip?”

“We’ve gotta keep the kids occupied somehow,” Hop smiles at how Eltanin and Altais brighten, eagerly informing Cinder on all there is to know. They’re fond of the sea, even fonder of Nessa and her refreshing aura. Hulbury’s always a great option for a visit when work stagnates and they’re looking for a refresher.

Thankfully, Victor ends up being of the same mind, because when they make the walk over, he lights up brighter than Eltanin and Altais combined, maybe even the sun itself and Leon on an especially good day but not quite, absorbing everything with a mixture of awe and wonder and glee, tugging Hop along by the arm, guiding him through a market he’s grown more than familiar with over the years. He smiles at the familiar stand-keepers, although his attention remains primarily fixed on Victor, who’s picking up keychains and novelty pens with the fervor only an excitable tourist can.

Hop wonders why he seems to be so fond of tacky merchandise, but figures he’s not really one to talk considering the state of his room and all the unnecessary memorabilia he hoards and refuses to let anyone touch.

“Hulbury is a seaport,” Hop informs him rather unnecessarily, later, once Victor’s gotten his fill of crowded market places and they’re walking down the lively streets again. He’s got a destination in mind. “Lots of oversea goods make it to Galar here.”

“Crazy how that works,” Victor remarks, eyes fixed on the endless blue waves crashing against the rocky shore. “Don’t matter how far you are. Sea’s not an obstacle if you can find a way to cross it.”

“That's a nice way to put it. I wonder what it’d be like to sail across the world. Over all the oceans.”

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Victor’s pauses for a moment. “Used to think about it. Gettin’ a boat and…leaving. Going. No destination.”

“I can understand the appeal,” To be beholden to no one and nothing. Just as his mother was. Like his father is. Hop’s not sure if such a lifestyle would have ever suited him. Perhaps in another life, another time. Now, here, the idea unsettles him. Leaving with no aim, no place in mind. No goal. No certainty. “What stopped you?”

“Fuckin’ water,” Victor chuckles quietly; humorlessly. “Nah, that’s not right. I’ve, uh, got real bad motion sickness. Like, _real_ bad.”

“You do?” What a surprise. “But what about the train?”

“Can’t get nowhere in Unova without the subway,” he grimaces. “Sucks. Don’t like it, but I deal. Was a pain in the ass during basic training, let me tell ya. Don’t know how I made it through.”

“I see,” Hop nods forlornly. He couldn’t imagine not being able to fly. There’s nothing better than hopping onto Eltanin’s back and taking off past the clouds, feeling the wind race by him, watching the world do the same. The same goes for sailing, the cool breeze and tangy, salty taste of sea water tinging the air. “That’s a shame.”

“Thanks, chief. You always know exactly what to say.”

“Sorry,” Hop smiles, sheepish. “Let me make it up to you?”

“By taking me boating? You that eager to send me overboard?”

“Of course not,” They’ll definitely have to find a solution to that eventually. Perhaps have Victor prescribed something. Simple pleasures like sailing over a pretty blue ocean, or flying amongst the clouds, are not to be avoided or missed out on. Hop can’t sit back and allow him to suffer in silence. “What are your thoughts on water-types?”

Very favorable, Hop comes to realize, once they arrive at Hulbury’s Center for Marine Life Research and Rehabilitation.

A place very dear to his heart, holding memories both pleasant and bittersweet, the path towards recovery an often rocky and complicated road, filled with sorrow and grief. He tells Victor this as they meander past various tanks and exhibits, each hosting a variety of different aquatic Pokémon.

“You’ve got Jellicent and Frillish here too, huh?” Victor presses his hands against the glass. They crowd around him, prodding at the barrier from the other side, observing him with reverence. Hop’s heard it said they’ve got a knack for recognizing regal attributes in other creatures. Worthiness, similarly to Aegislash. “Kinda nice to see familiar faces, even this far out.”

“Our similarities overshadow our differences, I think.”

“Wise words from the philosopher.”

“Your sarcasm is appreciated,” Hop rolls his eyes. “I _was_ going to take you to check in on their new arrivals, but I don’t think I will now.”

“New arrivals? What kind?”

“I’m not telling.”

“And I can’t convince you otherwise?”

“Nope.”

“What if I get you something at the gift shop?”

“Hmph.”

“C’mon, you’re saying you weren’t eyein’ those Horsea plushies?”

“…I don’t have the shiny version. Those are new.”

“So?”

“I… _might_ be amenable. To that kinda trade. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“…okay.”

Victor grins, entirely too smug for Hop's liking. He feels like he shouldn’t be so easily bribed, that his integrity is at stake during moments like these, but he’s beginning to realize saying no to Victor is kinda difficult, and he really _does_ want to show him the new additions to the aquarium crew, a group Nessa’s been working day and night to get back on their feet, far from home that they are.

And, maybe, just maybe, he wants to show off his shiny new friend to his big sisters.

So that’s what he does.

The facility’s centermost pool has over-gone the occasional renovation over the years, always bigger, better and more accommodative of critical cases. As per usual, Nessa is there, accompanied by her team of adorably obliging Pokémon. Whether it’s her star Drednaw, mischievous Toxapex, ditzy Huntail, or magnificent Milotic flanked by her gang of feisty Feebas, they’re always a welcome sight for newcomers.

And, of course, Sonia’s there.

“There’s my little guy,” Nessa greets him upon their arrival, looking up from the tablet in her hands. Going over important aquarium statistics no doubt. She’s really good at crunching stuff like that. “Look at you, all grown up. Did you get taller again? How long has it been?”

“Like, four days? Nessa, you say that every time you see me.”

“I do, don’t I? I feel like it needs to be acknowledged for posterity’s sake. You should probably cut it out soon, else I’ll need a ladder to see that adorable face of yours.”

She pinches his cheek affectionately, succeeding in embarrassing him. He can feel Victor staring at him, can hear him stifling laughter.

“Come on, Ness, cut it out,” Sonia, his goddess of fortune and all things good and just, arrives to his rescue. “Don’t mind her, Butterscotch. She’s just a little miffed she has to look up at _all_ of us now. Thus is the fate of a short queen.”

“Weather’s always temperate down here,” Nessa laughs, nudging Hop’s shoulder. “Nice of you to drop by,” she peeks around him. “Brought some company along this time? Not your usual lot, looks like.”

“No!” Hop exclaims a little too loudly in his excitement. He steps back, flourishing a hand at his companion. “New! Victor! This is!”

Nessa and Sonia stare at him. Aware he’s not making too much sense, even in his excitable state, Hop rephrases.

“He’s my partner!” He amends with a smile, only vaguely registering how Victor chokes at the descriptor, how Sonia and Nessa’s eyebrows shoot up, their eyes nearly bulging out of their skulls in surprise. “We’re partners! Isn’t that nice? I’ve never had a proper human partner before.”

“Partners,” Nessa repeats, dumbfounded. “You two.”

“Yes.”

“In what sense?”

“Well…” Hop frowns, tapping his chin. That’s a good question. “In all the ways that are important and matter, I guess. I was planning on inviting him over for dinner one of these days. My brother wants to meet him. Marnie’s spoken about how important bonds like this are, so I think it’s beneficial for us to be open about our relationship. I won’t hesitate to do what I can to keep him close.”

Sonia releases a strangled noise, a cross between a Dewgong and an overly excited Haxorus. Even so, she still sounds lovely to Hop’s ears.

“Okay, all right, pump the breaks there, heartbreaker,” Victor cuts through the odd tension, muttering under his breath, an amalgamation of confusion, exasperation, and amusement notable within his expression. “You’re throwing everyone here for a loop, whether you mean to or not.”

“I am?”

“Yes sir. Let me clear things up,” Victor addresses Sonia and Nessa directly. “We’re pals, he and I. I’m helpin’ with his investigation. As you can tell, he’s pretty passionate about makin’ friends with me—“

“I’m passionate about being good to you.”

“—holy _fuck_ , chief, save it for later,” Victor pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’re _friends_.”

“And that’s all?”

“Why are you asking me? He’s the one about to pull out a ring,” Victor snorts. “But, yeah, I guess. We’ll see what the future holds.”

“So straight-forward,” Sonia commends, tapping her chin, an amused twinkle in her eye. “I wish you luck, partner-friend Victor. Hopscotch’s…well, he’s _something_ when it comes to these things.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

Hop frowns.

“What did I say?”

He receives no answers.

Proper introductions are had after that, followed by Hop requesting if they can check in on Nessa’s latest group of charges because Victor both likes water-types and is incredibly vitriolic in his reproaching of poaching. This immediately earns him Nessa’s favor, because if there’s anyone who loves water-types and loathes poaching and the destruction of natural habitats, it’s her. They chat on end about their different experiences and methods for dealing with criminal ne'er-do-wells, not least of which involves fists smashing teeth out of skulls until they notice Sonia’s queasy tottering and ashen skin, after which they stop and move ahead with feeding a group of once oil-logged Spheal and Sealeo, commenting endlessly on their cuteness.

“Odd fellow."

“A little.”

Beside him, along the edge of the tank, Sonia laughs. That she’s here isn’t anything out of the ordinary; all but expected when she’s not working. Hop wonders when she’s planning on telling him she’s finally decided to settle in Hulbury. Professor Magnolia says to give her a year. Oleana, half of that. Hop’s a little more optimistic. He’s banking on a quarter.

“I’m happy to finally have a face to a name. You’ve spoken so much about him.”

“He’s interesting,” Hop says, watching Eltanin, who’s taken to dive-bombing in and out of the water, keep pace with Nessa’s competitive Milotic.

“You _do_ like interesting things,” Sonia teases, playfully raising Andy’s hooves up and down from where she’s seated on her lap, squeezing them and cooing over her. The usually reserved ancient dragon of ole’s dignified manner is nowhere to be found. She soaks up all the attention, bleating innocently, further endearing herself to the professor, who squeals and holds her closer, rubbing their cheeks together.

_She is lovely and perfect. I adore this human, Hop, and will protect her at all costs. You must allow it._

“She’s all yours,” Hop smiles at Sonia, who gives him an odd look at the response. He’s definitely testing the limits of her patience, hiding a truth she’s steps away from uncovering on her own. For once, he’d like to wrap everything up on his own; send it her way with a pretty bow once it’s settled. “I feel like you’re trying to insinuate something.”

“Me? _Never_. How could that ever be my intention?” she pauses purposefully, side-eyeing him, lips curving up in a feline-esque manner. “ _Now_ , hypothetically speaking, if that were to ever be my intention, I would hope you understand there’s no reason to hide anything from me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hop remarks dryly, gently pulling Altais back from the edge of the tank when she wanders a bit too close. Swimming’s not her strength and the last thing he wants is her panicking and frying them all to a crisp. Cinder's at least being wary, poking her tiny claws into the water, startling when a rogue Feebas nips on it and repeating the process.

“I’m being serious,” Sonia insists, oddly concerned. “You know you don’t need to be afraid, right? I’ll always support you, no matter what, no matter who.”

“Of course, Scones,” There’s never been a time where Hop hasn’t believed that, hasn’t known that if all else were to go to pot, he would always have Sonia in his corner. “I understand. I feel the same. For you.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she rests her head on his shoulder. “Scones loves you so much. She just wants to make sure you know that.”

“Same here,” Hop grins, and Sonia returns it, and that little part of his chest that always unfurls whenever he’s reminded she cares for him blossoms once again, warm and soft and homey _._

_How fortunate you are, Hop. See to it that you appreciate her unequivocal devotion, and return it in kind, for one knows not when it will be torn from their possession._

Andy stares into the rippling waters, unseeing eyes devoid of any notable sentiment, unnecessary that it is.

Her words are laden with meaning.

They stay a while longer until Nessa and Sonia are called away, their presence needed elsewhere. It’s a trying ordeal to pull Victor from the friendly group Spheal he’s grown attached to, but the promise of another interesting site to explore is enough to convince him into reluctantly bidding his new friends farewell. They initially stop by the gift shop to get that Horsea plushy, but upon catching Victor wince at the price, Hop opts instead for a Horsea charm. He adds it onto his necklace, joining his keys and the updated Spikemuth acrylic Marnie gifted him years ago.

"So I remember this day whenever I see it," he explains. Victor gives him an odd look in response.

He doesn't know what it means, but he's smart enough to realize Victor isn't looking for an interpretation.

“Breaking and entering, are we?”

“I have permission,” Hop grumbles, struggling with Hulbury’s lighthouse door lock until it finally clicks open. It’s so finicky. Nessa should really get around to replacing it. Then again, he has a feeling half of the reason she _hasn’t_ is because he complains about it every time. She likes teasing him in cruel ways like that. “I’m not a criminal.”

“And here I thought I was finally beginning to be a bad influence.”

“You don’t sound all that apologetic.”

“Nothing like corrupting an innocent soul.”

“And who are you to judge whether my soul is innocent or not?” Hop shoves the door open with his shoulder, gesturing for Victor to follow. “C’mon, before I leave you behind and prove my degeneracy.”

“These hands are up, you ghastly _knave_.”

When they make it to the top, the view of the setting sun is warm and inviting.Nostalgia and embarrassment abruptly hit Hop in equal measures at the sight, the immaturity of a child throwing a tantrum and running away all too familiar in his memories.

His poor brother’s suffered the brunt of his emotional volatility throughout the years, something he wishes he could go back and remedy. There was always very little in the way of controlling his spontaneity when he was past the point of anger and completely in the waters of irrational rage and frustration, however silly the reasons.

That Nessa readily allowed him access here after one two many break-ins speaks volumes about the excessiveness of it all. Maybe it was her way of trying to comfort him. Offer him a little hole to hide away in whenever the wilds of Hammerlocke Hills couldn’t cut it.

Or maybe she was just trying to throw Leon a bone. Gift him a place where he could always find his disaster of a little brother each time his temper flared and he wouldn’t stop screaming that Leon _wasn’t_ his dad, that he couldn’t tell him what do _because_ of it.

It’s embarrassing to think about, even now.

He wonders how Leon looks back at those moments.

“This place still in operation?” Victor interrupts his thoughts, scanning the area methodically. He does that a lot, Hop’s noticed. Maybe it’s a ranger thing.

“Not really. Marine technology is pretty advanced now, so it’s mostly just for show. It still turns on after dark though, just in case.”

“That’s good. Y’know, for when we finally buy a boat together.”

“We should probably work on your seasickness before that,” Hop leans against the railing surrounding the large lantern, recently replaced and glimmering against the evening sun-rays. “I’ve read there’s a really nice one like this in Johto. That it’s one of the tallest in the world.”

“There is. Olivine City.”

“Have you been there?”

“Passed through once,” Victor pointedly glances at Altais, who’s staring at the lantern with an unreadable expression. “They’ve got an Ampharos powering theirs. Delicate little thing. Nothing like your gal.”

“Altais is very hardy,” Hop agrees, because it’s true. He’s never met a Pokémon more adaptable in his life. Not even Eevee have anything on her. “She tends to wander wherever she feels like, whenever she feels like it. I think that’s helped her overcome any difficulties she might have had with rugged environments.”

“Might be,” Victor casually leans back against the railing. “Any reason she hasn’t evolved yet?”

Hop blinks, caught off guard.

“Pardon me?”

“She’s well past that point, ain’t she? You’ve been trimming her wool because it grows too fast and too long. Her horns can’t contain all that stored up energy, so the cushions and blankets at the lab are all static-ed up. Shocks everyone at least twice per visit. You gave her the tablet because, that way, she’s keeping it charged, herself occupied and not interfering with all those machines you’ve got running. Add in that pretty little Everstone tucked below that cute little bandana around her neck, and I’m guessing it’s a purposeful choice. _Her_ choice, because like hell would the saintly professor himself ever forbid it.”

Just like that, Victor finishes listing off his observations, leaving Hop to digest everything that’s been so suddenly presented to him. He’s never thought Victor dull in the slightest, but this is a bit…

“I—when did you even notice?” Is all he can manage. “The Everstone, I mean? It’s always hidden.”

“She scratches at it sometimes.”

“And the tablet?”

“I walked in one day and it was at a hundred. Walked out and it hadn’t changed.”

“You…really pay attention.”

“Comes with the territory,” he shrugs. “You don’t gotta tell me or anything. I was just curious. Was wondering why you'd keep it secret.”

“It’s not so much a secret so much as her preferring not to discuss it,” Hop looks to Altais, who shrugs at his unspoken inquiry, consenting to his speaking on her behalf. “The first time was unexpected, and it scared her a lot. She never had plans on evolving, so when it happened, it really bothered her. I got the Everstone to stop it from happening again.”

“What was the cause?”

Hop smiles depreciatively. It’s such a silly answer, he always loathes admitting to it.

“A lightning storm. I usually stop her from wandering out whenever they roll in, but I was careless that time. When she came back inside panicking about it, there wasn’t anything I could do.”

Altais tugs on his trouser leg, patting his calf, as if to relieve him of any guilt. He appreciates her kindness, but it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. If Hop had actually been _paying attention_ , like he _always_ should be, they wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place.

“That’s rough. I’d give you my condolences, but it’s not like I’m bothered by the outcome,” Victor replies, blunt and plain-spoken as always. “I dunno another Altais except this one, so I’m not about to say I’m sorry you’re a Flaaffy, because you’re a Flaaffy I consider my pal. I think you’re fine the way you are. Might not have been on your own terms, but shit happens. We’ve gotta keep on however we can, even when everything goes to hell on us.”

Cinder agrees, patting Altais on the head to show her support, squeaking out a joyful string of reassurances, eager to console her dear friend however she can. Eltanin huffs in his signature haughty manner, as if to affirm Victor is _obviously_ correct, that there is no other conclusion to consider. Even Andy gets her two cents in.

_The righteous Victor speaks truth. While the circumstances of her evolution are unfortunate, there is very little to be done about it now. Rather than lament the past, we must seek the future and live with our heads held high, no matter the forms we take, regardless of the twisted strings of fate we find ourselves entangled in._

“Yeah, what Andy said,” Victor asserts, clearly having not understood a single word. “I mean, if it’s any consolation, you’re _hella_ adorable.”

Altais presents him the _driest_ expression imaginable, which makes him laugh and, in turn, makes Hop laugh, because no matter what form she takes, Altais’s cutting directness will never change.

They head back shortly after, parting ways and promising to see one another soon.

Curiously, it’s always sooner than expected, because their paths are all but intertwined with one another’s at this point.

Hop can sense the gap between them closing, and wonders when a good time to bring Victor home to meet the rest of his family will be. He can’t spring it on him without proper preparation, but he also can’t behave as if he’s some dirty little secret to keep hidden either. He wants to cherish Victor, as his new friend and partner, someone he hopes to rely on for anything and who he hopes will do the same in turn.

So busy that he is dealing with these musings, an endless cacophony of uncertainty within his mind, he hardly notices when he arrives home, thoughtlessly answering Raihan and Leon’s inquiries into his day and his investigation and the company he was keeping, missing the looks exchanged between the two; questions lost upon the tip of their tongues before they can gather the nerve to ask them.

He misses it while giving Mordred a few chin scratches and Flo a belly rub and Dee her ritual hugs, too concerned with his new, budding relationship to notice the knowing looks shared between Pokémon and humans alike. Not when Galahad stares into the depths of his soul as he massages his claws, or when Lulu ushers him into his room to put his things away. Not when Tito presents him with his warm and toasty slippers or when he’s brushing Pops's feathers or when Merlin shows him his new dance routine. Not even when Excalibur wraps his tassels around his waist in a bid to get him to shine his blade.

And certainly not when Arthur directly asks what’s up because, apparently, his annoyance levels are reaching all time highs with everyone tiptoeing around the obvious Copperajah in the room.

“You wanna know what I’m thinking about?” Hop repeats, oblivious to how all ears within the household are fixed on his response, even the Dreepy and Drakloak stopping their shenanigans to listen in. “I’ve seemed a little out of it since I got back?”

Arthur nods.

From one corner of the room, seated in front of a rather elaborate gaming set-up, Raihan’s fingers pause above the buttons of his controller, the screen marked with a message pronouncing his death, the sound of teammates yelling and damning his existence from his headset crystal clear.

At the opposite corner, Leon, ever earnest Leon, conspicuously stands utterly still, like he’s some sort of potted, big brother shaped plant created for the express purpose of livening up the interior decor.

If Hop were paying attention, he might tease him for it.

He’s not.

“Hm,” Hop inclines his head, thinking about the best way to get his thoughts across. Sonia and Nessa were a little confused by his earlier phrasing, so he wants to get it right this time. “I was thinking about inviting my new friend over. I just don’t know how to go about it. I don’t want to be pushy, because I don’t want to scare him off. He’s the jumpy sort, I think. A casual approach might be best. What do you think?”

Arthur briefly considers his conundrum, rings of smoke escaping his nostrils as he thinks.

Eventually, he grunts.

“You want me to stop? You think I’m thinking too much?”

A nod.

“Well, yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just…I dunno,” Hop twiddles his thumbs, feeling shy all of a sudden. “I don’t wanna weird him out. We’ve been getting on nicely lately and I just…want that to continue. I feel like. Is that weird?”

Another grunt.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you know me,” Hop smiles. “But I guess I _am_ being too uptight about it. Like you said, I should just be honest and ask. It’s not a big deal.”

Arthur nods, pleased by his resolve.Grateful for the advice and guidance, Hop rewards him a well-deserved petting session, finding comfort in how he settles his head upon his lap, the vibrations of his purring rattling against his legs.

“Thanks, mate. I appreciate your help. I think you’ll like him. You’re pretty similar. Sans the fire breathing and scales, of course.”

Arthur growls, and since Hop knows better, he’s aware it’s his version of a laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I cheated a little with the Turffield riddle, but since it already exists and isn't consequential to the overall story, I thought I'd leave it as is 🤗


End file.
